The Good Doctor Affair
by Stained Blue
Summary: Just a forewarning: It's long. Like, way long. Each part is one chapter, but it's the same story from different perspectives. Also, Illya is Ducky in The Man from UNCLE, so...it's really a Ducky/Gibbs story.
1. Ducky

Title: The Good Doctor Affair 1

A/N: Ducky's part of the affair.

Disclaim: Don't own NCIS or The Man from UNCLE. I have, however, meshed the characters together and played around with time. So bear with me. Mild spoilers for Meat Puzzle.

**1987**

It was an important year at U.N.C.L.E.; it was the year T.H.R.U.S.H. was almost brought down. More importantly, it was the year that 32-year-old Illya Kuryakin walked away from the organization whose secrecy was greater than that of the FBI and CIA combined.

The young Russian had finally had enough. He was tired of Napoleon treating him like a pet; tired of being shot at; sick of being beaten, tied up and left for dead; mostly though, he was tired of Napoleon Solo cheating on him.

So, Illya gathered all his effects from his desk and wore dark glasses to hide his red-rimmed eyes. He ignored Napoleon following him from the office, bellowing after him.

"Illya! Where the devil are you going?! We've work to do!" Strong hands grabbed his upper arms and wrenched him around. Illya stared up into the dark eyes of his now ex-lover. "How could you do this to me Illya? Leave me here all by myself."

He laughed bitterly as his soft lips twisted into a mocking smile. "You are not by yourself Napoleon. All the girls here in the office would gladly accompany you home." He pulled himself from his ex-partner's grip and began to walk away.

Napoleon laughed after him. "Oh so it's about them. What would you have me do? Get down on one knee for you?" The mockery was so great that Illya was certain had he had his gun, he would've given no thought to shooting his ex-partner, ex-best friend, ex-lover.

Instead, he breathed heavily and forced himself out the doors of U.N.C.L.E. with everyone watching. When he glanced back up at the unassuming office building, he could see Alexander Waverly, watching him walk away.

Mr. Waverly's parting words came back to him in a rush. 'UNCLE won't be the same without you, Illya.' And he certainly hoped that it wouldn't.

**1991**

It had taken Illya Kuryakin less than four years to become a completely different person. He had stepped as delicately from his Russian background as he had into his new British background.

He changed his name, added glasses and exchanged dark turtlenecks and grey and black slacks for colourful bow-ties and nice suits. In addition to a new external look, he forced his personality to change. Whereas he had once been a very shy individual who rarely talked about himself or his past, he now openly told stories of his make-believe family and life.

Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard was a completely different person from Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. Ducky came from a prominent, lush background filled with caring parents, large houses and servants. Little Illya came from a poor background, a Gypsy father and a mother who didn't love him and long periods in between the times when food was abundantly on the table.

Ducky, however, hadn't lied about his education. He had gone to Edinburgh, as a present from a rich man in St. Petersburg who took pity on him because he was of a starving family. He had been a surgeon, did have two degrees and had traveled the world.

His mother, though, had died long ago. The woman who wrote him occasionally was simply the deranged sister of Mr. Neichov, the man who had sponsored him throughout schooling.

It was that esteemed schooling that offered him many high-paying jobs as he slipped effortlessly out of Illya Kuryakin and into Ducky Mallard. Despite the near complete change, Ducky couldn't shake his undeniable urge to help people. In spite of all his instincts not to, he accepted a job as a military surgeon and was shipped off to Frankfurt to help deal with the income of wounded soldiers from the Middle East.

The chemical scents and constant beep of machines was something familiar and yet new to the ex-spy. He found it, for some odd reason, to be a mild comfort knowing that though he had changed, humanity had not. People were still blowing each other up for unknown reasons, and he was still fixing those people.

One day, while making his rounds, he happened upon a young man in a coma. The man's dark hair was matted with sweat and dust, and his skin tan from the sun and peeling from an explosion. It reminded him of the time he and Napoleon had…he quickly cut off his rambling thoughts and stared at the young man, who despite his current physical condition was still atttractive.

"Well, you certainly seem fine," he remarked to the young man, his mouth barely working to produce a perfect British accent. He lifted the man's chart and stared at the name. "The name Leroy does not become you, Gunny." When he glanced back over the clipboard at the man, sharp blue eyes stared back at him.

A tongue darted out and wetted blistered lips. "Jethro." He smiled down at the young man and produced a cup of water, holding the Styrofoam to the others lips. "Ah. Jethro. It fits you better, I dare say." Jethro smiled slowly. "Excuse us Doctor," another man said sharply and elbowed Ducky out of the way. He tried to ignore the way Jethro's eyes flashed with hostility. "But of course," Ducky said with a soft smile, and he roamed off to find other patients.

When he finally made it back to Jethro's bunk, the young gunnery sergeant was sitting up, his shaggy head cradled in his bandaged hands. "Are you alright?" Jethro looked up at him, and the look seemed to plead for companionship.

Careful not to jostle the young man, Ducky sat down beside Jethro. "Would you like to talk about it?" Jethro threw his arms around Ducky, completely startling the doctor, and clung to him. Sobs choked themselves in the crook of Ducky's neck, strong fingers dug into his shoulders, and it took everything he could not to tighten up at the intimacy of the entire situation. This man didn't even know his name and yet, he was flinging himself at Ducky as if Jethro belonged in the doctor's arms, and strangely, Ducky found that he wasn't quite as opposed to the thought of possibly sharing his life with the young man.

Very awkwardly, he returned the embrace despite the knots twisting in his stomach, gingerly patting the younger man on the back. "Aw Duck, they're gone. My family's gone." So Jethro did know his name, and instead of chiding the gunny on the shortening of his nickname, he just kept patting the young man on the back. "There, there. It will be all right."

Jethro pulled back and stared at him with eyes turned cobalt by tears. He met that gaze head on. Many a time Napoleon had tried to break him by using his stare alone; he hadn't broken for Napoleon Solo. He certainly wouldn't break for Jethro Gibbs.

Slowly he extracted himself from Jethro's clutch as the hateful glare continued and smoothed down his doctor's coat. "Time will eventually numb your wounds; but only you can heal them." Jethro glared up at him with those cobalt eyes. "How would you know." It was meant as a rhetorical question, more of a cheap shot than an actual inquiry. But he answered anyway, twisting actuality just slightly. "When I was very young, my father was killed. He was struck by a drunk driver, thrown 50 meters and bled out from a head wound on a cobblestone lane in Manchester. My mother, unwilling to let him go, married a man who looked almost exactly as my father did. It was a terrible trauma for a little boy of five to have inflicted when every day he had to come home and stare at his dead father, who wasn't really his father."

For a moment, Jethro just stared at him. Ducky finally looked away and watched Jethro's heartbeat march across the monitor. "It's like telling a small child that Santa isn't real, then dressing up as jolly Saint Nick and eating dinner with the child every night." He offered Jethro a wan smile and made his way back into the heart of the hospital.

The rest of the week, he made certain that someone other than him did Jethro's bed checks. Completely unwilling to put up with yet another man who thought he could control everyone in his life with just a smile and good looks, he disassociated himself from Jethro Gibbs. Until Jethro sought him out.

When he reported to the hospital for his shift, Jethro was waiting at the reception desk. Those deep blue eyes locked on him, watched him move closer, and nearly slipped into that dark gaze. The young gunny was dressed in his khaki uniform; a duffel bag lay on the floor at his feet. Ducky slipped behind the desk, signing in while waiting for Jethro to speak.

"I'm leaving today." He glanced up at the younger man but said nothing. "I'm going back to Virginia before a twelve-month deployment." Ducky went back to his paperwork. "And I was wondering if I could get a ride to the airport. I'll buy you lunch first." He looked up at the young man, studied him for a long moment before placing his pen down. "When does your flight leave Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?" The younger man flinched at his formal title. "Look, Ducky. I was an ass, okay? Can't we just forget it?" For a moment, his old training ran heavy through him. He smoothed the feelings out with a soft smile. "Don't make a habit of it Jethro."

"So…you'll drive me to the airport?" Ducky raised his eyebrows slightly. "What happened to lunch?" Jethro laughed softly and nodded eagerly. "Of course. Lunch. How about I meet you here at eleven hundred?" Ducky nodded slowly, trying not to be sucked in by Gibbs's vibrant grin. When Jethro finally returned to his room to wait for three hours, his old self halved himself and took sides. One half of him couldn't believe he had forgiven the younger man so easily; he reasoned that his new self was trusting and easy going rather than mysteriously aloof. The other half wondered what was for lunch.

He smiled as old reminisces crept to the surface of his mind. The first time Napoleon had offered to buy him lunch, his appetite had won out and the bill had exceeded one hundred dollars. Ever since, his near-constant appetite had been an on-going joke at UNCLE. Secretly, both his past and present selves couldn't wait for lunch.

Jethro, as it turned out, was very punctual and arrived exactly at 11:00, which shocked Ducky very mildly. But when he returned from making his rounds, there was Jethro, rocking on his feet by the reception desk. Those dark blue eyes turned to him, already twinkling with a hidden smile. "Ready to go, Duck?" Casually, he shrugged off his doctor's coat and made his way toward the doctor's lounge. He was already stripping off his scrubs when Jethro came through the door.

When his head came free from the green shirt, Jethro was watching him. He self-consciously pulled on, buttoned and smoothed down his dress shirt. It wasn't as if he hadn't undressed before another male before. He'd undressed before a lot of men; just none of them had ever watched him in quite the same way as Jethro was. And he really didn't want to sound girly by telling the other to turn around.

Sucking it up, he just shoved the scrub pants down over his black pinstriped boxers. He hastily jerked the khakis up over his legs before stooping to pull off the plastic baggies around his dress shoes. "Ready now?" He turned to look at Jethro before nodding. "Yes." Ducky mentally kicked himself when neither Jethro nor himself moved, but rather continued to stare at one another. Slowly, he cleared his throat. "So, uh, shall we proceed?" Jethro seemed to snap out of it and hurriedly opened the door. "Yeah."

He found himself being ushered before the other with a broad hand spread in the small of his back. Ducky wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with Jethro's touchy style. Jethro opened the door of a government issued vehicle and swept Ducky inside before nearly running to the other side of the car. The whole thing would have been amusing if not for making Ducky feel a little bit uncomfortable.

Jethro, seemingly oblivious to Ducky's mild discomfort, smiled while starting up the car and drove off. Silence clutched the car's interior strongly as Jethro drove and Ducky looked out the window. Another shock jolted into his chest when Jethro parked the car in front of what appeared to be an expensive restaurant.

The other looked at him expectantly, keys in hand. "Well, you ready?" Ducky swallowed heavily. He wanted to voice an opinion. He didn't want to eat in an expensive place; he didn't want the bill to exceed a hundred dollars; he didn't want his appetite to be made fun of yet again.

But Jethro continued to stare at him, patiently waiting. Slowly, he nodded. Jethro was out of the car before Ducky could react and at his side, pulling the door open and helping him out. He blushed at the treatment, which was like that of a couple but he decided it was rather nice and that he really liked this young man. Jethro was already at the door, holding it open and patiently waiting yet again for Ducky. With a blush, Ducky rushed up the sidewalk, ignoring the slight twinge of pain in his right leg.

After they were seated, albeit with a few dirty looks from the other patrons, Ducky stared, regrettably, down at the menu. He'd come from a large family, and there had never really been all that much to eat and because of that past, hunger was almost always lurking in his body. A sharp hunger pain forced his sight to double and see Russian printed across the menu for a brief moment until he blinked. He quickly scanned the menu for the cheapest item. Unable to find it, he decided on just ordering soup and bread.

Their waiter sidled up, placed glasses of water on the table and accepted orders for drinks. When the young man asked if they were ready to order, Jethro gave a decisive yes. Ducky watched as the man sitting across from him ordered for both of them. The waiter didn't glance Ducky's way again. When the young man had disappeared, Ducky glared at Jethro. "What was that?"

"Me ordering for you, Duck."

Ducky glowered and sat in a pout at the table, easily slipping back into Illya as Donald Mallard was too well bred to pout. Jethro just smiled at him. "I'm taking you out for a treat. I don't want you to order something cheap." Ducky ignored him by taking a sip of his water. The waiter, at that moment, showed up with drinks. When Ducky had replaced his glass on the table, Jethro was staring at him again.

"How'd you hurt your leg?" Unintentionally, Ducky rested his hand on his upper thigh and, not for the first time, imaged that he could feel the long, narrow scar that curved there. He'd received it being a Russian spy; a member of THRUSH had kidnapped him and held him hostage, torturing and assaulting him for six long days before Napoleon had finally rescued him. "I got hurt during a skiing accident. For my 16th birthday, my parents took me to the Swiss Alps for a skiing trip. On one of the slopes, my ski hit a rock and tripped me. I broke my leg in the consequent fall."

For a moment, he was sure that Jethro wouldn't believe him. But the other man nodded slowly. "So your family is pretty well off." After a moment, Ducky nodded. "Old money," he said by way of explanation before taking another sip of his drink. The waiter swept by, informing them that their food would be ready shortly before disappearing again. "So…how old are you Ducky?"

The question threw Ducky through a loop, and he looked at the other man for a moment. "I turn 37 in September. Why? How old did you think I was?" Jethro cocked his head and stared at Ducky in an unsettling way for a second. "I thought maybe 26." Ducky nodded and smoothed his hands over the fine tablecloth. He'd only once been in a restaurant as fine as this one, and it had been in Russia on his 16th birthday at Neichov's insistence. "And how old are you Jethro?"

Jethro's mouth split in a grin. "I just turned 23 in January." Ducky nodded slowly, preparing to reply when the waiter reappeared with another man in black-and-white at his elbow. Both carried heavy trays.

As roasted duck and boiled potatoes with leeks, thick potato soup, nearly a loaf of bread and a large bowl of salad were loaded onto the table, Ducky had to lock his jaw to keep it from dropping open. As the second youngest in a family of seven, he'd been lucky to get even an eighth of this meal.

Sweet aromas assaulted his senses and caused his mouth to water. To calm himself, he took a sip of his tea and breathed deeply. He was, once again, reminded of Neichov's dinner. He mentally chided himself as he caught Jethro's amused look. Carefully, Ducky filled his plate, watching Jethro's plate to see if he was getting too much food.

He tried desperately hard to maintain the persona of Ducky Mallard, but Illya forced himself to the fore, as he tasted the duck. With a careful quickness, he devoured the plate's contents and ladled soup into the wide, flat bowl provided. The chunks of potato were hot and flavourful, swimming in the creamy soup. He tried hard not to just inhale his food.

After a while, he realized that Jethro had stopped eating and was watching him. Ducking his head, Ducky looked up bashfully at the younger man, waiting for the questions and mocking to begin. Jethro didn't say anything, just continued to watch. Unable to help himself, Ducky returned to his food. He forcefully slowed his bites but was determined to eat until he felt he'd bust.

Two hours of food later, after he deemed the duck free of all meat and all the soup had been sopped up from his bowl with bread, Ducky casually leaned back with a sigh. Jethro was giving him a most peculiar look. "…What?" Jethro smiled softly and shook his head. "Where does it all go?"

A blush rose heavy to Ducky's face; never before had he heard that question stem from his appetite. "I know what you've got under that shirt, and it isn't a whole dinner's worth of soft stomach. So where does it go?"

Really, he was tempted to name off all the things he did when he wasn't being a good person: fencing, kickboxing, horseback riding, shooting. Ever since quitting the whole spying business, he still hadn't adjusted to his high level of energy he'd once had to strain to the fullest at UNCLE that, as a doctor, he barely used.

"I just don't really ever have the time to eat properly. It seems as if I'm always in surgery or doing some such nonsense like paperwork." Jethro laughed softly before casually checking his watch. Ducky put his tea back on the table. "What time does your flight leave?" Jethro glanced up at him. "1500. We have a little under an hour left."

Part of his mentality questioned if the whole set up was a date, but he casually brushed the thought away. Marines, in general, weren't too accepting of gay people. "Well, what do you want to do Jethro? Since, we've nearly an hour left." Jethro stared at him for a moment. "Tell me about yourself."

"Such as?" Ducky asked, lifting a brow. Jethro shrugged. "Your family, your friends, lovers, experiences…you know, things like that." Ducky slowly nodded. "My parents are divorced; my mother is living in our yearly home in England. My father left for Cairo and a young Jezebel named Alexis. I have an older brother, James; he turned 35 in May and has a lovely wife and three children."

"What about friends?" Jethro prodded, leaning in as if absorbing the information. "I have a limited number of close friends, but an extremely large number of close acquaintances. My acquaintances span the globe so that the sun never sets on my empire. A good number of those men and women are also in the medical field."

Jethro waited for a moment, but Ducky blatantly ignored the silent question pertaining to his lovers. "And relationships?" The younger man grinned playfully. "Any pretty, little lovers hanging about?" Ducky looked at Jethro before sighing and taking a sip of lukewarm tea. "No. My lover and I broke up four years ago. He's mostly the reason why I left my old job; he was always cheating on me." Jethro nodded gently as if he understood. "It doesn't bother you that I'm gay, Gunny?"

A soft laugh passed Jethro's lips. "Why would it Duck? You seem like a very amazing person." Ducky blushed despite being completely unsure of what exactly lay in that casual statement. "Why thank you Jethro."

The waiter swept back through, refilling glasses and removing dirty plates. Discretely, the young man in black-and-white left the check and scurried off to the kitchen with his arms full of dirty dishes. Ducky watched Jethro look at the check, and without batting an eye, the younger man pulled out two one hundred dollar bills and laid the bills on the table. "Ready to go Duck?"

There was that expectant but patient look again. Slowly, Ducky got to his feet and was once again ushered before Jethro with that broad, warm hand in the small of Ducky's back. The pair of them sat in the car, stationary in the parking lot, just looking at the front of the restaurant. "Do you mind if I write you while I'm gone, since I've no one else to write?" Ducky swallowed carefully; the Gunny, he told himself, was simply looking for companionship following a traumatic event.

Jethro's dark blue eyes turned to him, imploring an answer of Ducky. "I suppose it would be alright." Jethro grinned easily and pulled Ducky into a hug across the console of the car. Ducky allowed the contact. "Dad and I am not exactly on speaking terms, my mom's dead along with my wife and daughter. You, at least, seem to care." Ducky smiled softly and leaned back into a straight-backed position.

"Right. Just drive the car back to the hospital once I've boarded the plane; someone will be there to pick it up." Jethro started the car up and slowly backed up. The drive was, once again, almost leisurely and nearly silent. The airport held a deserted look as Jethro parked near the entrance.

Once again, the younger man rushed to Ducky's side of the car to open his door and help him out before walking back to the boot of the car and getting out Jethro's Army-issued duffle bag. They walked into the terminal together, and Ducky, like the perfect gentleman, walked Jethro right up to the gate's entrance. "Well Marine, I look forward to your letters." Jethro grinned at him in a wavering way before dropping his bag and clasping Ducky in a hard hug. In the past four hours, this man he barely knew had shown him more love and compassion than nearly two years' worth of a relationship with Napoleon.

"I'll miss you Duck, and you have to promise to reply to the occasion letter. Okay?" Ducky smiled, scribbled the address of both his German apartment and the Reston House down before handing over the numbers, "Of course Jethro. I'll reply to them all." Jethro grinned again and blinked slowly as if there was something in his eye. Overhead, Jethro's plane was called and people lined up at the gate. "Bye Duck." Jethro lifted his hand in a wave, which Ducky returned. "Goodbye Jethro."

He watched the young Marine get on his plane and dutifully waited until the plane had started to tally down the runway before leaving the terminal. He began the drive back to the hospital, thinking about Jethro. Some of the things the Gunny had done were the things only lovers would do, but he dismissed the thought as something Jethro might've done with all his friends. There was no point in getting his shattered hopes of love up yet again.

**1995**

Though the war had yet to end, Ducky had grown tired of fixing the wounded soldiers that fluxed in and out of the Frankfurt hospital. So he decided to return to America.

America was, at first glance, the same as it had always been. New York was still crash and rude with people pushing and shoving on the overcrowded sidewalks while taxis and buses honked and raged on the overcrowded streets.

The noise nearly overwhelmed him but he sucked it up and took a walk down memory lane. There was still an explosion pattern on Broadway where his and Napoleon's car had exploded. He walked past the unassuming office building that had once held UNCLE; he was clueless as to whether or not the organization was still in operation, let alone still stationed in the same building as it had been in 1987.

Women leered at him and men smiled lightly in his direction. Sighing heavily, Ducky walked toward one of the many libraries. The massive oak doors swung open before him, and he stepped into the marble foyer. The library on 22nd Street had been a gift to the city and was still a sight to behold.

Curving staircases beckoned him upward, and his shoes treaded on velvet runners. He stopped at the service desk on the top floor and requested computer access. When the lady granted his access, smiling gently at him, he strode past her. The really bad thing about living in America was that you needed a good-paying job to keep ahead as much as he liked. In Europe, he had all the money he wanted, but it would take some time to transfer those funds into American currency.

Until then, he really needed a job. On the computer, he placed several applications in the medical field, looking for a job that dealt with anything but soldiers. He gave the address of the Reston House in Virginia, about thirty minutes from DC. Slowly, he got to his feet and cleaned the lenses of his glasses on his sweater. He decided that the next course of action would be to buy a train ticket to Virginia and move in with the lovely Vanessa Neichov.

He smiled at the receptionist as he walked past and made his way to the nearest train station. New York simply held too many memories for him to live comfortably. He couldn't even breathe easily knowing that he was possibly in the same city as Napoleon Solo.

The train station was empty, as most train stations normally went in the middle of a workday. He bought the ticket and used almost all of what little money he had left in his pocket. When the train pulled up into the station, he boarded among the throngs of leaving passengers and managed to find a seat in a cabin by himself. He locked the door behind himself and settled down for a six-hour commute.

By the time the train pulled into the station just outside Georgetown, Ducky had managed to nod off for a short nap. The train's rough stop jolted him back to full awareness in less than ten seconds. He gathered his possessions and disembarked from the train. He hailed a taxi and directed the young man toward the Reston House.

When he finally reached the house, the last of his money was to be handed over to the young man. He smiled softly and got out of the cab. He prayed that Ms. Neichov would remember him. Vanessa had once been an actress, and when she opened the door it was obvious that the slight dementia had not stifled that creativeness. His _mother_ threw her arms open wide, along with the French doors. "DONALD!" She drew him into an embrace that smelled like Chanel 5. Four Welsh Corgis skidded around the hardwood floor and leapt at him, begging a touch and yapping.

"Hello Ms. Neichov." She smiled at him and ushered him inside. "Nonsense, Nichols already told me. You should call me mother." He grinned, unable to help it. "How have you been mother?" She hugged him again. Ducky remembered Vanessa from his younger days, when Mr. Neichov had tutored Ducky himself and Nichols had been still taking care of his older sister. "A bit tired dear. Shall we go sit down?"

He left his bag in the expansive foyer, checked to make sure the door was shut and locked, and followed his mother into the kitchen. Big picture windows looked out onto the massive backyard lined with willow trees, shrubs and beautiful, climbing roses. "We'll have your funds transferred tomorrow dear," she said while patting his hand softly. "You'll have the entire upstairs to yourself and any visitors. The corgis and I sleep downstairs, in the bedroom by the door."

"Thank you for letting me stay with you." His mother waved her hand softly. "Nonsense Donald, a mother always takes in her child. Though I had hoped that this house would be your wedding present someday." He smiled softly and shook his head. "I am sorry mother." She pulled him into another Chanel 5 hug and shushed him. "Hush dear, it's alright. A mother just wants her children to be happy."

Once Nichols Neichov had accepted Illya as part of the Neichov family, Vanessa had been like a mother to him. The slightly mad, older lady had loved him in a way his own mother had not. Though he had always been his father's favourite son, that paternal love hadn't filled the hole left by the want for his mother's affection; Vanessa Neichov's love had. Ducky's mother slowly got to her feet and wandered about the kitchen, getting ready for teatime.

When the teakettle was finally put on to boil, and his mother had rejoined him at the table, she took his hands in hers. Her hands were soft, narrow and small as they cupped his own strong, scalpel calloused hands. "You haven't changed at all young Illya, still as beautiful as ever." He blushed, and she laughed softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Thankfully, the kettle began to whistle before he had to say anything in return. "Here, let me mother." He carefully disentangled their hands and stood to remove the kettle and ready the fine china cups. Slowly, he added the steaming tea and basked in the scent of Earl Grey. "Honey, milk, or sugar?" Ducky asked as he brought the two cups to the table. "No dear, thank you though."

They sipped their tea in silence. "I've a present out in the garage for you Donald, though it may need some work. But I'll let you go and get situated. Your rooms have already been made livable by Libby, the maid." He slowly got to his feet. "Just don't forget your present in the garage dear." He looked over his shoulder at her, "Yes mother." Ducky gathered his duffel bag and backpack from polished floor and moved upstairs slowly. He opened the set of heavy, double doors and stepped into the massive master suite.

The bed loomed before him, lit from curtained light streaming through the doors leading out onto the balcony. He dropped his stuff and moved to the other side, pulling away the thin curtains and pushing open the ornate French doors with frosted glass. Sighing, he walked back into the centre of the bedroom and toward the door leading to the private sitting room connected to the bedroom. Cabinets lined with mirrors and shut with glass doors held bottle after bottle of expensive scotch, whiskey and bourbon. He pulled open the blank cabinet door underneath the alcohol cabinets and opened the freezer where rows of vodka sat. He sucked his breath in and dropped down in a large armchair.

He was nearly afraid to leave his suite of rooms, so he returned to his bedroom and moved into the bathroom. The marble floors were black; the shower was set in marble and fitted in the back wall with shower-heads across the ceiling and down the sides. A large marble tub rose out of the corner of the left and back wall with only a narrow, white cabinet keeping the tub and shower from touching. A mirror with frosted edges took up half of the right wall, with a sprawling counter set with two deep sinks and covered in the necessities. The black and white toilet was crouched to the left of the counter with a half wall providing cover from the shower. Ducky sucked in a deep breath. It would take a little while to get used to the money.

There was no doubt in his mind that the rest of his floor was just as beautifully furnished as his suite. The small library office opened onto a balcony as well, the doors position just behind a sprawling mahogany desk and matching chair. Floor to ceiling bookcases took up most of the wall space. There was a spare bedroom, making the number of total bedroom six, and a public bathroom that was somewhat smaller than the master bath. Each of the rooms was cavernous and furnished with nearly antique, but worn and comfortable, furniture.

Casually, he made his way back downstairs and out into the garage. The extensive garage was immaculate with all the tools in their places on the walls, the counters clean and the floor swept. A drop sheet covered what could only be a car on the left side of the two-car garage. He pulled away the white sheet, and his knees nearly gave out. The Morgan dully gleamed from under dust. The vintage car sat low on deflated tires and the windows were dirty. Ducky ran his fingers over the smooth, black soft top before stroking the gritty silver paint. He decided right away that the car needed a completely new life.

Never before had anyone given him a gift such as the car. He rushed back into the house and swept his mother up into a hug. "Thank you," he whispered while he clung to her. She simply handed him the keys. "It needs a lot of work. I bought it in Lancaster and had it shipped over. I think the family said it'd been driven twice before." Ducky clung to his mother again until releasing her enough to take the keys.

He wheeled the Morgan out of the garage on its flat tires and retrieved the water hose. The water washed away streams of dirt and dust, revealing the shiny, silver body. Ducky rolled up his sleeves and dutifully scrubbed the caked-on dirt until the sleek body of the Morgan gleamed. He jacked the car up, and carefully he removed each decrepit wheel and washed the wheel hubs. He slid into the driver's seat, inserted the key, and started the engine. The Morgan's old engine turned over twice before catching life and giving a weak rumble before dying again. He slipped out the door and pulled the hood up, making a mental note of what was needed.

His mother stepped out onto the wide, covered front porch and waved money at him. "You'll need to go to the auto store. I've already called you a taxi, dear." Ducky looked down at his dirtied dress shirt and tried to smooth his ruffled hair. He slipped his glasses off and placed the streaked lenses in the garage before accepting the money from his mother and getting into the cab. He bought the parts needed and ordered a whole new wooden frame from the Morgan Auto Company. The man behind the desk told him it would probably be five days before the frame would make it over. When he was returned to the house, unthinkingly he check the mailbox and was sorely disappointed at the empty contents but set his mind on the Morgan.

Already, he had decided that the Morgan would be his life until completed or a job offer came in. His driver's license would be transferred from Germany to America, along with his extensive funds, by the time the week was out.

Within two weeks, he had the Morgan completely refurnished to its vintage self. The car was beautiful, if he did say so himself, and he loved it even more for having fixed it himself. It was one of the greatest pleasures in his life to climb into the driver's seat and turn the key, to listen to the car's engine roar to life immediately and to rumble patiently for him to shift gears.

All he needed next was a job. Most of his money had been placed in a bank account in the Caribbean to accumulate interest and keep him from squandering the hard-earned funds. Only a small portion, a measly $100,000, was kept in DC so that he had easy access whenever he needed money. Unlike most Americans, Ducky didn't believe in credit cards, and therefore didn't have any. The only card in his wallet, aside from his driver's license, was his debit card. He had learned from Napoleon's mistakes that though credit cards were nice, they were also vindictive little bits of plastic. He was hoping for a call, and hopefully for a job, sometime before the week was out.

He sat at the table with his mother that night, sipping tea and discussing life, when the phone rang. Slowly, he got to his feet and plucked the phone off its base. "Hullo?" For a moment, there was silence on the other line before a soft voice piped up. "Uh yes, Donald Mallard?"  
"Yes?" He waited patiently while the young woman collected herself. His name tended to surprise people; they always seemed to think he was just yanking their chain. "My name is Stacy Carlson, and I'm calling on behalf of Director Tom Morrow about your job application."

"Yes?" She took another deep breath. "We would like to schedule an appointment for an interview; that is, if you're still interested in the job Mr. Mallard." He tried to remember what institution Tom Morrow was the director for, but the institute's name slipped his mind. "Of course. Just name the date and time." He could hear the young woman flipping through a date book before answering him. "How about tomorrow at 9:30? Will that be okay for you?" Ducky nodded briefly before realizing that she couldn't see him. "Of course. I'll be there. Thank you."  
"No, thank you. The address is 716 Sicard Street, Washington Naval Yard. Have a good day sir," and she ended the phone call as soon as the pleasantries had passed.

"Did you get a job dear?" He looked over at his mother and rejoined her at the table. "No. I have an interview though." His mother grinned at him. "Well done Donald. I'm very proud of you. Where at, might I ask?" He blushed softly and picked up his tea cup to give him something to do. "I am not entirely sure, but it is a government institution." For a moment, his mother looked at him before shooting him a demanding look. "Well, get to bed then. You need to be well rested for your interview."

Ducky looked at the clock. "Mother. It is only 7:30. My interview is tomorrow morning. I have more than enough time to finish my tea, read some of my book, go to bed around 10:00 and still get a good night's rest without going to bed this very instant." His mother gave him a look, which resulted in him sighing and getting to his feet. He carried his tea cup to the sink and placed the thin china in soapy water and walked toward the stairs. He stopped in the downstairs study to get his book and crept upstairs to his suite of rooms before he upset his mother.

He changed into soft, thick cotton pajama bottoms and pulled off his shirts before climbing into bed. Ducky settled back against the mound of pillows, covered his knees with the thick, green comforter and settled his book on his knees. His current book was on the human mind including phobias, tendencies and personality characteristics. He was currently working on getting yet another degree, one that would allow him to legally profile people, and the book had become like a Bible to him.

For the next few hours, he lay in bed, flipping through the book's pages, reviewing what he had already learned. His exam wasn't for another few months, but he had never been one to waste his time simply because there was time to waste. When Ducky next glanced at the clock on his bedside table, it was 11:54. With a heavy sigh, he removed his glasses, setting the lenses on the bedside table next to the clock and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He shifted down further into the large bed, pulled the covers up over his chest and closed his eyes in an attempt to force sleep.

At precisely 5:30 the next morning, his alarm clock trilled shrilly in his ear. Ducky sat up and slapped the shrieking device sharply, effectively shutting it up. Slowly, he stretched and yawned before kicking his legs out from under the covers and getting to his feet. He changed into a pair of black sweatpants and pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his naked torso. He dropped to sit on the floor and pulled on his old, worn-out trainers, got to his feet and trotted from his room.

By the time he got downstairs, his mother had already begun brewing coffee. He kissed her gently on the cheek. "I'm going for my run. I'll be back mother." He crept through the house, careful not to wake the corgis, opened the front door and stepped out onto the front porch. The morning was cool, the air crisp and he began to stretch. He had gotten used to running when he'd still worked for UNCLE, now he kept running simply because it felt good and was good for him. He jogged down the front steps, across the front lawn and down the quiet street.

Most of the houses were still dark as he jogged past each one, concentrating on keeping his breathes shallow and even. His heart beat was deafeningly loud his ears, and the slap of his sneakers against the pavement rang out against the silence of the morning. Mentally, he counted his steps, calculated the length of his stride into the number of feet in a mile and counted to eight times that. Like always, he reached a private park for a ritzy neighborhood. Ducky stopped for a breather, bent forward to touch his knees and drew in long, slow breaths.

Slowly, he straightened and turned about-face. He stretched out his legs and massaged his right thigh hard, fighting off the niggling pain creeping from his muscles. Ducky took one last deep breath and began to jog back. On his way back to the Reston House, as always, people were getting into their cars and heading toward work, telling him that it was nearly 6. He counted his heartbeats this time. When he passed the mailbox, his heart broke a little as it always did. By the time he stepped up on the porch, his heart was beating roughly 115 beats a minute.

He dragged a hand across his warm face and drew in a shuddering breath. Ducky popped the neckline of his hoodie to send air down over his sweating torso. He pushed the door open and stepped into the cool comfort of air conditioning. His mother peeked out of the kitchen. "Feel like some coffee or breakfast?" The very thought of food turned his stomach. "No thank you mother. I think I am going to go upstairs, finish my workout and then take a shower." She nodded, and he jogged up the stairs.

When he pushed his bedroom door open, his breathing had evened and his body cooled. He walked past his suite of rooms and down the hall. He unlocked the far door and stepped into his own personal defense room. Ducky kicked off his shoes and felt the mats give slightly under his weight. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, rolling his shoulders while drawing nearer to the punching bag. The grinning face of Napoleon Solo stared back at him. He bounced slightly and swung out, denting the picture in the middle. His knuckles stung, but he didn't have time to wrap his hands. He barely had time for a thirty minute go at his ex-partner.

His blows landed hard and fast, denting and ripping the picture until Solo's face was a mangled mess of black and white. Ducky let his hands fall, and his shoulders slumped. He took in deep, regulated breaths before turning and leaving the room. He locked the door behind him and made his way toward his suite. When his bedroom door shut behind him, Ducky slumped against it, boneless. He was suddenly nervous.

Soundlessly, he pushed away from the door and stripped off the hoodie as he moved to his bathroom. The shower spurted out hot water, and he stripped off his socks and pants before stepping into the spray. The water thudded against his back like a good massage despite the fact that the water made his hands sting. There was icy water in one of the sinks, waiting to soak his hands after the shower, to stop the swelling and bruising.

Over the sound of the shower, Ducky managed to pick up the chiming of the grandfather clock downstairs. Seven chimes was enough incentive for him to move. He grabbed a flannel, swept it over the bar of soap and quickly washed his body. As the spray rinsed his body, he scrubbed almost painfully at his scalp. The stream swarmed over his tired muscles, relaxing him before he cut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Ducky dried off quickly and soaked his hands in the chilly water for a brief time before stalking into his bedroom and pulling out his best dark suit. He returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair, shave, apply deodorant and to use the mirror to perfectly tie the claret bow-tie.

With a little over an hour and thirty minutes until he needed to leave, Ducky trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen. His mother was sitting at the table, sipping coffee, but quickly got to her feet when he entered the room. "Look at you. Absolutely stunning. You'll get the job for sure," she said while pulling him into a quick hug. "Now, how about some breakfast?" Sighing, Ducky relented. "I suppose mother." His mother grinned and moved toward the stove, quickly readying to scramble some eggs and prepare some toast. "Fix yourself some coffee dear and sit down."

Working on autopilot, Ducky fixed himself a cup of black coffee and sat down at the table. Shortly after, his mother placed a plate piled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast covered in strawberry jam. Slowly, Ducky ate his breakfast and sipped his coffee while listening to his mother ramble on and on about the job. He was a bit nervous, but nervousness could be overcome. Really, he was excited to be able to drive the Morgan into a busy place and show it off. People were often entranced with the vintage car that, true to European fashion, had the steering wheel on the right side of the car instead of the left.

Glancing at the kitchen clock, which read 8:37, Ducky slowly got to his feet. He needed to leave the house at 8:40 to get to the Naval Yard within fifteen minutes of the designated time, and it was always good to show up early. He stood up, placed his dishes in the sink and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Wish me luck mother," he told her before retrieving his car keys and walking out the front door. He quickly walked down the front walk and approached the shining Morgan, tugged the door open and settled in the driver's seat. Ducky inserted the key and turned the ignition, loving the sound of the engine's purr. Slowly, he down-shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway before fluidly shifting into first and driving off down the road, shifting up appropriately as he went.

As he entered the Naval Yard, Ducky slowed down and carefully read each street address. The building marked as 716 was an unassuming, squat building of light red brick with glass doors and relatively wide windows. After a few moments of searching, Ducky was able to find a parking space, put the Morgan into park, got out and locked the car behind him. The glass doors opened before him obligingly; he got on a lift, traveled to the second floor and stepped into a busy, yet clean, office. A young woman looked at him, smiling in a nearly love-struck way. "Can I help you sir?" He smiled softly, "Yes. I have an appointment with Director Morrow at 9:30." She pointed to the side, at a metal staircase. "Up those stairs and through the door." He touched her hand softly, "Thank you." She blushed hard and looked down. So this is how Napoleon felt, he thought while walking slowly through the squad room.

A hand grabbed his upper arm and was wrenching Ducky around, "Hey. I need to see your-Ducky?" He stared up into the dark blue eyes of Jethro Gibbs. For a moment, the hurt from letters not received crashed back into his heart. He had, of course, attributed the lack of letters to him being forgotten by the young Marine. For a brief moment, Jethro's fingers tightened against his forearm, pulling Ducky just a little bit closer. Chapped lips opened as if to say something when another man came by, smacking Jethro upside the head. "Gibbs! Com'on! We got a dead Marine out in Norfolk." The older man was gone, and Jethro stared hard at Ducky. "This isn't over. You and I are gonna talk. I'll be back, and you better be here." Those dark blue eyes bored into Ducky, who simply looked back. "I have an appointment to keep." Ducky slowly pulled away and walked languidly up the stairs, feeling Jethro's gaze on him all the way until Ducky disappeared through the doorway.

There was a young blonde sitting at a desk, a secretary he presumed, and she looked up at him when he came to a stop in front of her desk. The clock on the wall behind her read 9:20. "Can I help you sir?" He smiled at her lightly. "Yes my dear. My name is Doctor Donald Mallard, and I have an appointment with Director Morrow." The girl was tripping all over herself, blushing hard and smiling back. "Of course. Yes, but the appointment isn't for ten minutes."  
"It has always been my policy that the early bird catches the worm." He smiled at her again and waited while the girl, her name plate said her name was Stacy Carlson, buzzed her boss and waited for a reply. Within minutes, Morrow opened his door, grinned widely at Ducky and beckoned him into Morrow's office. "Come in, come in Doctor Mallard."

The other man ushered Ducky into the spacious office, sat him down in a comfortable chair and crossed around to settle behind the large desk. Morrow leaned his elbows on the dark desk, fingers tented. "Well Doctor Mallard, for some reason I thought you'd be older, considering your experiences." Ducky smiled softly. "Please, call me Ducky; everyone does. And I do believe that you are the only person to ever say that to me." Morrow sat back in his chair, smiling softly. "So, have you ever been a ME before?" Ducky nodded slowly. "Yes. When I finished my schooling in Edinburgh, I went immediately into surgery at London's Royal London Hospital. A few months after I started as an emergency surgeon, the head ME quit when the Medical Board found out that he was taking drugs from the hospital. The Board then stepped in and asked that I take up temporary residence as the head ME, to which I agreed. After a few months, the Board called me before them again and asked that I become the permanent ME, to which I also agreed."

Ducky leaned back into his chair, smiling sadly. "I worked as the resident ME for six years before a colleague began having a problem with me; I felt that this problem was effecting the way I was working, so I put in my two-week notice and finished my work. I left Royal London Hospital with the highest letters of recommendation, which in 1991 got me my job as a military surgeon." Morrow shuffled the mentioned letters and looked up at Ducky. "So why did you resign that position?" Ducky leaned forward slightly. "I decided that I needed to be closer to my mother, who had recently been diagnosed with a mild form of dementia. I could not take care of my mother while in Germany, so I moved to Virginia to make sure that she was properly cared for."

Morrow laid the papers down on his desk and looked up at Ducky. "Do you think, that if you do make this commitment, that you'll be here over ten years?" Ducky swallowed hard; a job was always something to be taken to the fullest, to put everything he had behind it; a job had somehow always managed to become his life. He was ready for dead bodies to become his life, for at least the dead offered answers to the questions that the living often chose to ignore. Slowly, Ducky nodded. "Yes. I would plan to commit until you forced retirement upon me." Morrow grinned, reached across the desk and grabbed Ducky's hand in a firm shake. "Well Ducky, you've got the job. How does tomorrow at 7 sound for your first day on the job?" Ducky felt his face crack open in a massive grin. "Thank you sir." He followed Morrow's example and stood, before being ushered from the office. The young assistant Stacy smiled at him before ducking her head and returning to her work. Smiling to himself, Ducky descended the staircase and reentered the squad room.

A strong grip once again took hold of him, and Ducky found himself being pulled to the side and turned to face Jethro. Those dark blue eyes searched him for a long moment. "What're you doing here Duck?" Unwilling to be swayed, Ducky straightened. "Applying for a job." Jethro's brow furrowed. "And…" Ducky smiled. "And you are looking at the new ME." The younger man grinned at him, briefly pulling Ducky into a hug which he did not return. Jethro pulled back, clearly puzzled. "What's wrong Duck?" Finally, he looked up at the younger man and spoke in a concise way. "You know Jethro, when you promise to write someone and then don't, it hurts. I thought you had forgotten me." He could see the hurt in Jethro's eyes, written on his face. "I…I'm sorry Duck. I just never had the time, I reckon." Ducky pulled away from Jethro, but a heavy hand grasped at his shoulder. He didn't want to see the look pleading for companionship on the younger man's face. "Lunch Duck? My treat." Damn you Jethro Gibbs for using my stomach against me, Ducky mentally swore before sighing.

He glanced over his shoulder at Jethro, who was wearing a hopeful, little smile. "Please let me make it up to you Duck." A twinge in his heart and stomach forced him to decide, and he relented. "All right Jethro, but this is the last time I will so easily forgive you." However, he seriously doubted he'd be able to make good on that promise. Jethro grinned, squeezing Ducky's shoulder slightly before pulling away. "You wanna go now? Or wait a bit?" Ducky pulled back his suit sleeve and glanced at the fine silver Rolex on his wrist. The crystal face glinted back at him, gothic hands swinging past roman numerals. 10:45. Methodically his mind raced through equations, factoring time and distance, figuring out the answers. "I have to go and have my credentials made, which should take no longer than fifteen minutes, putting us as at eleven hundred." He could see the shock on Jethro's face, but he ducked his head and continued. "Thus allowing us to leave a little past 11:00; giving in time for traffic, we should be able to be near all restaurants within twenty minutes, putting the time at 11:20. That is, if you are willing to accompany me to having my picture taken?" Jethro's jaw finally left the floor, and he nodded.

"Course Duck. Never worked with a genius before…you're just full of surprises." Ducky flushed lightly, though Jethro was not the first person to call him a genius. He thought back over all the surprises that he entailed; surprises that he promised to keep secret. "Thank you Jethro…shall we go?" The younger man smiled and pulled Ducky along behind him toward the elevators. He wasn't too excited to be in an enclosed space with Jethro, but did finally get on the lift. At least, he mentally said, the touchiness has stopped. But some silly little part of him said it was simply because the pair was at work and that once they left the NCIS headquarters the warm, broad hand would come back.

As he had guessed, the picture hadn't taken long. He swept his hair slightly to the side with his fingers, adjusted his glasses and smiled softly, trying hard not to blink at the blinding flash. The young man then swept him forward and began filling out all of Ducky's information in a slow, neat hand. "Your tag will be ready tomorrow morning; so when you come in, just come down and get it. Okay?" Ducky nodded slowly and followed Jethro out.

Just as he had thought, as soon as the pair left the NCIS building Jethro's hand was spread in the small of Ducky's back, ushering him toward Jethro's car. The younger man opened the passenger side door, waited for Ducky to slip into the car and firmly shut the door behind him before nearly sprinting to the other side of the car and getting in. The other let out a deep breath before starting the dark, government-issued car.

Moments rolled past without any conversation at all before the car came to a stop at a red light, and Jethro turned and stared at Ducky. "Look Duck… I didn't forget you. I just never had the time to write, or I woulda. I promise. I never woulda hurt you." A hand lay down on Ducky's arm. "You know that." Ducky looked at him, seeing the sincerity in the younger's eyes. He placed his hand on the other's hand, smiling softly. "The light is green." A horn blared behind their car, and Jethro slammed down on the gas. "And, yes Jethro, I know." The younger turned his head and smiled at Ducky before pulling into a little bistro off the main road.

Jethro slowly got out of the car and walked around to Ducky's side. Ducky felt his heart flutter as he was once again the center of the younger man's attention, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. He had never been the center of anyone's attention unless he was being tortured or fucked, and even then that attention wasn't certain. But with Jethro, that attention was solely fixated upon Ducky.

The younger man helped Ducky out of the car and gingerly ushered him into the restaurant. It was a painful reminder of how much Ducky had missed the simple contact for the last four years. That broad hand rested tenderly against the small of his back, and Ducky thought he felt a slight tremor in the fingers, but mentally shook the idea off as preposterous.

Inside the bistro, the air was warm and smelled of fresh bread. Unable to help himself, Ducky stopped and felt Jethro press against him lightly as he took a deep breath. When he was younger, his mother used to make bread, hand knead it and cook it over an open fire. Jethro's voice came softly over his ear, and he fought down a shiver. "C'mon Duck, let's go sit down."

A young woman stepped up to them, smiling as her gaze drifted between Jethro and himself. "Two?" He could only assume that Jethro was nodding in the affirmative because the young woman was suddenly leading them to a cozy booth in a back corner. He wondered if everyone just assumed that he and Jethro were romantically involved.

He didn't get much time to wonder about that particular question though, as Jethro ushered him into the booth before sitting across from him. The younger man was staring at him in an unsettling way. Ducky cleared his throat softly and looked up as a young waiter crept to their table-side. "What can I get you guys to drink?" Unwilling to be treated like a girl yet again, he smiled up at the waiter. "Yes, I would like un-sweet tea, please." He felt Jethro's eyes on him, but ignored it. The waiter turned his attention to Jethro. "And you sir?" Jethro sighed hard, "Coffee." The waiter dipped at the waist before ambling off to fetch their drinks.

There was that gaze again, and Ducky refused to meet those dark blue eyes. "You look good Duck. Younger, more alive." Ducky shrugged in a noncommittal way. "How was your time at sea Jethro?" The other man looked at him, almost stunned that Ducky would change the subject. "It was…good. I met someone; we've been dating for a year now." He tried to ignore the feeling of hurt that jabbed sharply into his heart, and instead offered a soft smile. "Well now, I am very happy for you." He hoped that the soft bitterness in his voice wasn't as perceptible to Jethro as it was to his own ears.

Jethro looked down as the waiter brought their drinks. "Do you know what you'd like to order?" Ducky saw Jethro look up and knew what was coming. He tried to beat the younger man to the punch but wasn't fast enough as Jethro ordered for the both of them. "We'd like a large supreme pizza, no green peppers, one of the big table salads and an order of cheese bread-sticks." The waiter wrote quickly before glancing up. "Would you like to try some of our wine, sir?" Jethro shook his head. "Nope, working." The young man in black and white nodded, "Okay. Well, I'll get this in for you, and the pizza should be out in about thirty minutes. The bread-sticks will be out in just a little while. Do you want the salad with the pizza?" Jethro nodded, and Ducky sighed as the young waiter rushed away to put their order in.

"Why do you do that Jethro? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Jethro looked up at him, smiling lightly, and it caught hold of Ducky's breath. "Maybe I'm trying to keep you safe Duck." He felt his brow furrow in confusion. "By ordering my food for me?" Ducky was intrigued by the soft blush that flushed Jethro's tanned face, even as the younger man's cheeks crinkled in a smile. "Okay, I get it. Sorry." The younger man rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Ducky was unable to keep the smile in as he placed his hand on Jethro's. The younger man's look softened. "It is quite all right Jethro. I assure you, I am quite used to it." Jethro's brow furrowed. "Whatcha mean by that Duck?" Before he could begin to stumble over an explanation, the waiter came by their table and placed the bread-sticks on the table. With a smile, Ducky picked up a bread-stick and took a bite.

He watched Jethro lick his bottom lip and glare. A laugh wormed up his throat, but he quickly swallowed it down and effectively ignored the displeased glower from Jethro for Ducky having outsmarted the younger man. "So Jethro, tell me her name." He took a sip of his tea while Jethro stuttered for a moment, once again wordless. "Uh, well her name is Joann." Ducky nodded slowly. "Are you going to marry her?" Jethro ran his fingers roughly through his hair. "Well yeah, I reckon. And I was kinda hoping you'd be my best man before I asked Joann." Something wrenched hard in his chest, and he was pretty sure that it was his heart breaking. "Of course I'll be your best man Jethro. I'd be honoured to."

The look of uncertainty on Jethro's face was a shock, but the pizza and salad was placed on the table. Ducky was glad for the distraction. Jethro selected a slice and slid it on a plate and handing it to Ducky before getting a plate himself. Ducky ate slowly, feeling for once in his life not all that hungry. But he ate first one slice and then another, carefully avoiding Jethro's confused look. He completely understood why the younger was confused; because they both knew that Ducky was more than capable of eating half of the pizza and the salad on a normal basis.

"You okay Duck?" Ducky looked up abruptly, startled out of his reverie due to the long moments of silence. He glanced up at Jethro and nodded slowly. "Oh yes Jethro, I am just trying to determine if I need a new tuxedo or if an older one will do." Jethro smiled weakly, "I'm pretty sure that your old tux will be just as good as any new one I might buy, so you might as well just use an old one and save your money. Besides, I don't want you looking nicer than me on my wedding day, do I?"

Nodding, Ducky smiled and took yet another slice of pizza. He didn't quite think that he could distract anyone from Jethro, but he wasn't going to say anything. Instead, Ducky finished his pizza and fell still, making eye contact with Jethro. Finally, the younger man caught on and gave Ducky a soft simper of a smile. "You're ready to go back to the office building." It wasn't a question, rather a sad, nearly whispered statement, but Ducky couldn't bring himself to nod. He just stared down at the table and waited. With a sigh, Jethro got to his feet, dropped a fifty dollar bill on the table, and began to move away; Ducky followed suit.

The ride back to the office was silent and awkward. Ducky stared out the window and tried to ignore Jethro. Tension radiated off the younger man, but Ducky could do nothing to fix it. His heart was too broken at the time to worry about Jethro's. Jethro put the car in park and turned to look at him. "Look, Duck. I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable. Don't feel like you have to be my best man just because you're my best friend."

Ducky's brow furrowed lightly, because he had honestly no idea that he _was_ Jethro's best friend, not that he was complaining of course. Unthinkingly, he reached out to consolidate his friend. His fingers touched the back of Jethro's hand, instilling a need in the other man to look up and make eye contact. "Jethro. Never think that I do something simply because we are friends…though I must admit that I am surprised you consider me to be your best friend."

Jethro looked hurt and shocked at that, and Ducky hastened to fix the damage his statement had done. "I simply mean that I figured a fellow Marine would be your best friend. You know, Simper Fi and all that." Jethro suddenly burst into laughter and clutched at Ducky's shoulders. "Duck, you _have_ been there for me through thick and thin. You affect so much of what I do that I can't even begin to explain it. I want you to be my best man because you are one of the most important people in my life."

Ducky smiled softly. "I guess I shall be seeing you about work. But I should probably go, my dear Jethro, before Mother begins to worry." Slowly, he got out of the car and walked back to the Morgan. When the door closed gently after him, Ducky ran his fingers repeatedly through his hair in a nervous manner. He didn't want to see Jethro get married, but of course he would be there to watch, take part as his heart broke as Jethro gave away his own heart to another, to someone other than Ducky.

**2005**

Slowly, Ducky settled into his chair. The New Year was proving to be quiet strange already, and it was only February. The people, or rather pieces of people, in the large drums had turned out to be people he had once known. People he had once worked with to prosecute a young man who had wanted to be a ME and instead had raped and killed a pretty young woman. Those people, including the prosecutor, the judge, and the jury foreman, being dead had of course disturbed Jethro to no end, which explained what Caitlin was doing, currently occupying the downstairs sitting room.

Lately he had found sleep even more elusive, which explained why he was currently in the downstairs study, drinking scotch and re-reading an old medical tome, instead of lying in his large, warm bed. He took another sip of the amber liquor and felt his eyelids become a little heavier. In truth, as of late, drinking was the only way to get a decent night's sleep. If he'd been upstairs in his private sitting room, he'd be drinking iced vodka straight from the bottle, as he'd found that to be a relatively quick way to fall into oblivion. Another sip and his eyelids closed halfway. The book felt heavy in his lap. He leaned further into the chair, took another sip and blinked again.

Glancing down at the book, he was surprised as the clearly written words wobbled slightly on the page before descending into the odd text that was Russian. Another blink and the words righted themselves, changing back into English. Ducky firmly closed his eyes, feeling the scotch pulling him toward sleep.

It only seemed like a few breaths before rough hands grabbed him, instantly startling him into consciousness. He stared up into the crazed eyes of one Vincent Hanlan. The young man grinned at him and quickly jabbed Ducky in the neck with a paralyzing drug. Ducky felt his body go limp, and the young Hanlan jerked Ducky to his feet with an overly vicious pull, swearing at Ducky the entire time. It soon became apparent that Hanlan blamed Ducky for everything that had gone wrong in Hanlan's life. A gag was shoved between his teeth, his hands bound and he was thrown into the back of a white van. Quietly, he lay on the hard floor, with Hanlan's knee digging into his back while someone drove crazily. Ducky briefly wondered about Kate, and nearly winced when he thought of the rage that Jethro would become. A soft breath rattled out of his lungs, which seemed to set Hanlan off, because the younger man wrapped his hands around Ducky's neck, thumbs pressing against his windpipe and effectively cut off Ducky's air supply. The world went black in a series; first, there were tiny pinpricks of black space, which eventually became bigger spots, which morphed into massive spills of blackness that grew until the blackness touched and melted together, rendering him unconscious.

When he was next conscious, Ducky found himself in a very unpleasant place. Concrete walls pressed in tight against him, and he was reminded of the young man at Edinburgh. The young man had been claustrophobic, had told Ducky and their fellow classmates to leave the young man undisturbed for 12 hours before climbing into one of the pull-out coolers commonly found in a morgue and shutting the door. Ducky also remembered being among those few who had remembered their classmate and had gone down to retrieve the young man, only to find a corpse. The boy had died of fright. Slowly, Ducky closed his eyes and took deep, regulated breaths. He counted his heart's beats and put total faith in his dear Jethro. He was fairly certain that the younger man had, by now, been informed of Ducky's disappearance and was coming to his rescue. He just had to be patient; after all, he told himself, patience was the greatest virtue to man.

However, he drew the line when he was pretty sure he'd been in the concrete cupboard for at least twelve hours. Ducky had quickly become bored, having nothing to do but stare at the uninteresting, grey concrete ceiling. Outside, he could hear voices coming closer and let out a soft sigh. The door swung open, and Hanlan's mother pulled the shelf out. Ducky blinked at the sudden light which was rapidly causing a headache as the light streamed through the non-tinted glass that filled the frames of his unnecessary glasses. He stared up at the elderly woman who looked at him with pure hatred and her son who glared at him vindictively. Ducky felt Death creeping up on him, and he tried to calm his wildly pounding heart. It would do no good to stay in a dangerous situation such as this and be so twisted up on fear that he wasn't able to think straight. He drew in deep breath after deep breath, forcing himself to calm and for all the tension to seep from his body. With a calm resignation, he stared back up at the Hanlans and hoped for yet another last minute escape. When the mother produced the needle, the hope for a last minute escape was all but lost; the sadistic smile that both Hanlans shared seemed to seal his fate.

This is how it is going to end, he thought in an oddly calm way. Many times, he'd been close to death. Every time he had always managed to slip just out of Death's grip and into Safety's arms. Not this time it seemed as the deranged young Hanlan's mother pushed the thick needle into his neck. Four minutes, he thought softly. The young Hanlan leered at him, telling him that Ducky only had four minutes until his entire body bled out.

He didn't need to be told this. He knew how much time he had, and how quickly it was slipping away. He could practically feel the needle pulling his blood from his neck; feel the thick warm fluid oozing from the rubber tube that ran from the needle's end. If he were younger, Napoleon would burst through the door any second. If he were younger, he'd have been up, ripping the needle from his neck and shooting the demented pair that held him hostage.

THRUSH had often threatened him, but never had the diabolic geniuses come this close to killing him. But the paralytic agent was still running strong in his veins, and all he could do was bite down harder on the gag in his mouth and stare at the ceiling. How THRUSH would laugh to see him like this; how Napoleon would sneer. He heard the soft guzzling sound as his blood first touched the drain.

The door flew into the room and in rushed his friends. Jethro, Anthony, Timothy and Caitlin rushed into the room, guns drawn. Ducky could see the panic in Jethro's eyes as his friend was already screaming at the deranged son and mother pair. Jethro, obviously unwilling to trust anyone but himself with Ducky's kidnappers, told Tony to save him. Slowly, or so it seemed, Anthony removed the gag allowing Ducky to hoarsely tell the young agent to free his hands. With his bonds finally gone, Anthony helped him sit up. Carefully, Ducky pulled the needle out and pressed his hand tightly to his neck, demanding something to stop the bleeding. The Hanlan boy apologized to his mother before slitting his throat with a scalpel.

Jethro rushed over to him, pushing Anthony aside, and held Ducky close. He could feel the younger man's frantic heartbeat against his ear as Jethro's rough palm pressed against his neck, holding the fabric and his hand against the bleeding wound. He forced a soft smile to his lips as he peered up at his savior. "What kept you?" Jethro, luckily recognizing the attempt at humour, smiled. Ducky felt Jethro's arms tighten around him and allowed himself to relax into the safe embrace.

Never had an affair made him feel this tired. Or maybe he was just getting old. But Ducky didn't feel old, only being 50. Maybe it was the few extra pounds he had put on in recent years, once work had become far more pressing and his mother's condition worse to the point that she ran off several of the nurses he hired. He simply didn't have the time to work out the stressed energy that kept him going, resulting in many a restless, sleepless night, and fitful nights when the sleep did come. He simply remained pressed close to Jethro's side until a paramedic forced Jethro away.

Gentle hands lifted him onto the gurney and wheeled him out of his would-be crypt. The paramedics loaded him into the ambulance, told Jethro he couldn't ride with Ducky to the hospital, shut the door and drove off. He felt an IV being inserted into his wrist and felt something akin to bliss flood his veins. His body no longer ached as the small dose of morphine finally allowed him to rest peacefully.

As was to be expected, all he saw was white when he opened his eyes. Over the years, he'd found that all hospitals looked the same on the inside, what with their white walls, white ceilings and white floors. Only the furniture and people changed. A heavy fog coated his brain for a few moments, before clearing and allowing him to think back over his latest life-threatening escapade. Ducky finally became aware of Jethro's presence at his bedside and turned to look at the younger man, who was sleeping in a very uncomfortable looking chair.

He looked down at Jethro's hand, where it was tightly clenched around his own. The news was on, but muted. Ducky saw his face and read the captions, proclaiming that the missing ME, Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard, had been found after being missing for two days. It also reported that the diabolical couple, Vincent Hanlan and his mother, had been captured with Hanlan dead and his mother in police custody. He sighed softly and shifted in the bed, instantly awakening Jethro. "What's wrong Ducky? You okay?" Ducky smiled at him and used his left hand to pat Jethro's right. "Ah nothing my dear Jethro. I am perfectly fine, just wished to sit up is all."

The look of relief on Jethro's face was apparent and led Ducky to think back on his memories. Of all the times he'd been forced to visit Medical while working with UNCLE, never had he woken to Napoleon at his side. Never had Napoleon ever even shown the slightest bit of concern, but back then Ducky had always bounced back from wounds. Still, it was nice to have the feeling of someone caring so much. Jethro sat up in his chair and moved closer to Ducky's bedside. "Are you sure you're okay Duck? Anything you need? Want?" Ducky smiled softly. "No dear Jethro," he said while patting the other's hand, "I am quite alright, I assure you." Ducky shifted further against his pillows, in effect sitting up, and sighed. For having spent the last 36 hours in the hands of a madman, he felt surprisingly well.

Outside his room, a squabble could be heard between a nurse and a male. Ducky frowned as the voice struck a memory. He was fairly certain that the voice was one he had heard before, before he'd become Ducky. Jethro stood up, more than ready to tell the pair fighting outside the door off. The door swung open, and Ducky's heart stopped. He tried to sink back into the pillows as Napoleon Solo stepped into the room, casually brushing the angry nurse off and shutting the door in her face.

In the past 18 years, Solo hadn't changed much. Napoleon's hair was still dark, still slicked back, and his good looks still eluded what Solo perceived to be charm. It was not unnoticed by Ducky when Solo gave Jethro a scornful look and stepped closer to Ducky's bedside. Solo was already seemingly in a territorial battle with Jethro over Ducky, as it normally was. Napoleon was the kind of person who became terribly jealous when something or someone he called his own was shown interest to by another person, be it male or female. Napoleon dropped a possessive hand onto Ducky's, careful of the IV in his hand. "Ah Illya, it has been quite some time." Ducky dutifully ignored the confused look that had taken up residence on Jethro's face. He bit his lip and looked up at Napoleon, glowering quietly at the man whose thumb was rubbing circles on the back of Ducky's hand. "You are lucky I am the only one who seems to remember who you are. But I must say," Solo paused to trace the backs of his knuckles along Ducky's cheek, "you have aged beautifully. Always my beautiful Russian."

Ducky jerked his head back, tensing his jaw against the pain that flared through his neck. He glowered at his ex-partner and looked at Jethro, searching for some comfort. Jethro stared back at him, confused and hurt. Ducky felt angry, hurt tears biting at the backs of his eyes. "Sir, you must have me confused." Napoleon laughed softly, so sure he'd won after chancing a glance at Jethro and having seen the other man's unwillingness to step in. "I would not forget my Illya," Solo said lightly before sitting on the bed's edge. "When I saw you had been kidnapped my heart wrenched, and I came to Virginia to look for you." Ducky let out a shaky exhalation, looking anywhere but the lying man in front of him and too ashamed to look at Jethro, to let the man he loved see him so hurt. His fingers curled in the crisp, white bed sheet before he turned a scalding look on Solo, who seemed taken aback by the look, though Ducky was sure it had lost some potency because of the tears.

"I am afraid I do not know you sir." He saw Napoleon's jaw tense up and saw the anger darken the older man's eyes. Napoleon brought his hand down sharply on the bed in a slap, barely missing Ducky's leg, and Ducky unintentionally tensed. "Dammit boy!" Ducky blinked hard and bit his lip to keep the tremor in and felt a few tears trickle down his cheeks. He drew in a shaky breath and looked up at the ceiling. Napoleon leaned in close, one of his hands clutching at Ducky's leg; his other caught hold of Ducky's chin and forced him to look at Solo. "You cannot forget me. You may have a new life, but I am part of your past and nothing can erase your past. Not you, not Her Majesty's Secret Service, not even the bloody KGB can change that." Ducky tried to look away, but Napoleon's grip on his jaw prevented it. He shut his eyes tightly and felt Solo pulled away.

Cautiously, Ducky opened his eyes and saw Jethro with a tight grip on Napoleon's arm. "I think you should leave." Napoleon brushed Jethro's grip off and jabbed a hard, angry finger into the younger man's chest. "You may think you have him, but you don't even know him. Illya, Ducky, whatever you call him…he's mine." Ducky saw the vein throb in Jethro's neck, his eyes narrow, his jaw tense. "If he's yours, then why is he here, with me? Where were you when he was hurt? When his mother was sick? When he was taken? To you, _Duck_," Jethro stressed his name, "is nothing but a possession." Napoleon laughed, drawing closer to Jethro with an angry look on his face. "Then what is he to you? Just a little fuck toy?"

He saw the way Jethro's fingers curled into fists, and Ducky knew exactly what was going to happen. "You asshole," Jethro snarled and punched Napoleon Solo soundly in the face, causing the 60-year-old man to crumple to the floor with a moan of pain. Solo sat on the floor, his fingers clutching at his face, as Jethro moved to stand in front of Ducky's hospital bed, thoroughly blocking Napoleon. Slowly, Napoleon got to his feet, blood seeping between his fingers, and glowered at both Ducky and Jethro. "You, Illya Kuryakin, are a disgrace to the UNCLE and KGB organizations, and a pathetic excuse for a man." Jethro took a menacing step toward Napoleon, and in effect, ran the other out of the room.

"Jethro…" Ducky tried, looking valiantly at the younger man, who still had yet to turn around to him. "I'm gonna go tell the nurses to release you. Then I'm gonna take you home and put you to bed. Let me tell you right now, I'm staying at Reston. I should've been at Reston to begin with. Then maybe none of this would have happened." The younger man, with fingers of grey already softening his dark hair, marched out of the hospital room. Ducky slumped, disheartened, into the pile of pillows behind his torso. He suddenly hated Napoleon Solo far more than he ever had, but he also knew that dwelling on those feelings would not push away his feelings toward Jethro. Ducky simply wished the younger man would scream, smack him, kick him while he was down. But, he knew Jethro wouldn't. That was Napoleon, and he was no longer Illya.

With care, Ducky shifted up in bed, more than ready to get out of the God-forsaken place called a hospital. He was rubbing his bad leg when Jethro stalked back into the room and true to his word, bundled Ducky up and whisked him away toward the Reston House. Luckily, his mother had been sent to stay with Helen Patterson for a few days, while Ducky recovered. Jethro used his own key to let them into the house and helped him up the stairs. Much to Ducky's dismay, Jethro helped him strip down to his undershirt and boxers and pull on a pair of sleep pants before ushering him into bed with a broad hand in the small of his back. Jethro kept his gaze carefully shuttered from Ducky, even while tucking him in and turning out the lights. Jethro lingered in the doorframe before firmly shutting the door behind him and, presumably, going to the spare bedroom. This, of course, left Ducky alone in the dark to mull over his thoughts.

Never once had he thought about something or someone returning from his old life, considering most of those people were either dead or stowed away in high-security prisons strewn about the world. Ducky tried not to think about the hurt look on Jethro's face, but he knew that Napoleon's words had cut the other to the wick. Napoleon had always had that going for him, the ability to cut anyone down, and Ducky knew that from enough personal experiences. His mind wandered back over dark memories that he hadn't thought of for years.

Finally, those thoughts were too much for Ducky, and he swung silently out of bed. As an after-thought, he grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, pulled on an old robe and made his way into his private sitting room. Turning his stereo on low, while the melancholy and docile tones of Beethoven echoed around him, he grabbed a bottle of vodka and settled onto the comfortable old smoking sofa. A thin layer of ice covered the bottle and forced him to hold on to the bottle as the ice stuck to his skin. He twisted the dark blue top off and took a long swill of the icy liquid; the chilly liquor burned down his throat and set a fire in his stomach. Memories came at him, hard and nearly elusive, so he shut his mind down. Instead, he concentrated on lifting the bottle to his lips and drinking himself closer to oblivion. Ducky closed his eyes against the look of betrayal that had carved itself onto Jethro's handsome face and was now burned into his mind. He took another long sip.

Footsteps echoed in his ears, and fingers gently tugged the bottle from his grip. He looked up at Jethro, his eyes feeling swollen and scratchy from the unconscious tears shed for both past and present times. Ducky reached out blindly, groping for Jethro's unoccupied hand, and clutched at the other man. "Oh dear Jethro…words do not even begin to express…I am eternally sorry for having dragged you into this; never once when I ran from my past did I imagine that my past might run after me." He tugged the younger man closer to him, pulling Jethro onto the couch beside him. The leather groaned softly under the added weight. Ducky stared deeply into Jethro's eyes, holding both of the younger man's hands with his own. "I was, once upon a time, Illya Kuryakin. But I am not him anymore. I am Donald "Ducky" Mallard. I am still the man you know, whom you've always known. I may harbour pieces of Illya, and I always will, but I am Ducky. I am still the young man you met those long, 14 years ago. I am still the man who comforted you after the deaths of Shannon and Kelly. I am still the man who stood beside you, who was your best man for three weddings. I am still the man who loves you as a best friend," he broke in his tirade to take a deep breath before throwing himself into what could possibly ruin their friendship. But in all honesty, Ducky was tired of hiding his feeling. "I am still the man who fell in love with you long ago, who waited for your letters and felt rejected when none came." His eyes felt heavy as tears swelled in them, darkening their colour before falling daintily down his face. "I am still, and will always be, your Duck, Jethro."

Long moments of silence lingered, until finally Ducky felt forced to call the other's name. In response, Jethro got to his feet and walked out of the sitting room. It felt as if Ducky's entire world crashed down upon his ears as Jethro seemed to confirm what he had always thought. His declaration of love had broken their friendship in two and left Ducky with just a fragment of what his life had once been. He retrieved another bottle of vodka before creeping back to bed; hopefully, things would look better in the morning.

The next morning, when his alarm clock went off at 5:30, his head began to pound. It took two slaps for Ducky to find the clock and yet another to silence the howling device. On steady feet, he swung out of bed and stood up. The motion made his head pound even more, but he forced the pain away. He dug around in his bedside table, found the aspirin and quickly dry-swallowed two. Ducky stretched briefly, thoroughly getting his sluggish blood flow to return to normal speed. He ran a hand briefly over his face before stripping off the sleep pants in favour of black sweat pants and pulled on his hoodie. Slowly, he dropped to the floor and began to stretch out his legs before pulling on socks followed by old, worn-in sneakers. Ducky got to his feet and trotted from his room and down the stairs. The front door clicked shut softly behind him.

Cool morning air brushed past his face as he stepped off the front steps. He took a few deep breaths before jogging off down the road. The rubber soles of the old Pumas padded hard on the asphalt, and his heartbeats pounded in his ears. He wasn't going as fast as he would've liked, but was more than ready to take what he could get as a 50-year-old man who hadn't exercised much in the past five years. By the time he reached the eight-mile mark, a stitch had taken up residence in his side, like a knife jabbing between his ribs with every beat of his heart.

He sat down on a bench and looked around the nearly deserted park. A pair jogged past him with a large dog pulling the woman along. Taking shallow breaths, his heart slowed, and the stitch was sucked back into his muscles. Getting to his feet, Ducky slowly stretched out his tired muscles before jogging back to the house, occasionally brushing his heavy, blonde hair off his forehead. He drew in breaths through his open mouth to keep enough oxygen coursing into his blood and muscles. He could feel little trickles of sweat dripping down his back by the time he reached the Reston House. When he trotted up the steps, he carefully stretched out his legs and rubbed his right thigh hard, effectively stopping the pain creeping toward his knee before entering the house.

Without his mother there, Reston House was quiet, and he crept up the stairs and toward the locked work-out room, past Jethro's still closed door. Ducky plucked the key from its hiding spot and undid the tumblers before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He pulled off the hooded sweatshirt and dropped it on the matted floor and kicked his worn-out trainers off and against the wall. He bounced lightly on his feet, approaching the punching bag and popping punches at the air. Ducky danced lightly around the punching bag before jabbing at the bag with resounding smacks. He felt the skin on his knuckles pop open and felt the joints bruise, before stilling. He slowly ran his hand along his forehead and stiffened when a soft creak whispered into the room. Turning his head, he didn't see anything and chose to ignore the possibly imagined sound.

Leisurely, Ducky crept back to the center of the room and balanced on one foot. As his age had progressed, he had found that yoga helped his joints and muscles. He raised his hands above his head and stretched until his stomach protested at the small space. He lowered his linked hands and switched feet before doing the same. Slowly, Ducky placed both feet on the floor and stretched backward, feeling vertebra pop all the way down as his spine rolled until his palms touched the mats. It was hard to breathe in such a position, but he managed before straightening slowly. His back felt better from the home-chiropractic treatment. Ducky sank to the floor and stretched his legs away from his body before stretching between them, stretching until his pelvic bone popped hard. He lay along each leg before bending back and pushing up on the mat, forming an arc of his chest and stomach. With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and stretched up on his tip-toes before settling back to the soles of his feet and leaving the room. It felt good to fall into his old routine again, and he ambled toward his room for a quick wash and was already making plans for what his light breakfast would entail.

The water was warm as it sluiced over his pleasantly aching muscles. He sighed softly and slumped against the slick wall, allowing the water to pound his back. With his head pillowed on a folded arm, he tried to think of what to say to Jethro. He tried to decide what was needed to be told in order for everything to be okay with the younger man once again. Ducky finally made up his mind to tell Jethro about his childhood and some of his relationship with Napoleon. He nodded firmly to himself before straightening and running his fingers through his hair.

He rubbed the flannel along the soap before scrubbing at his skin, massaging the clean rag against his body to relieve the tension that the water simply couldn't. Ducky poured some shampoo into the palm of his hand before rubbing his palm against the lay of his hair. As water swarmed his scalp, his fingers dug against his scalp with his nails scratching hard to clean his hair. It felt good, and he scrubbed a little harder until the water twining down his legs was clean of any bubbles. Slowly, he turned the water over to cold until finally shutting the stream of water off completely.

Droplets of water slipped leisurely down his body before Ducky finally roused himself to step out of the large showering cubicle and into the humid air of the bathroom. The marble floor was cool and sticky against his bare feet before he stepped onto the bathmat and reached for a towel. The thick cotton wrapped around his waist before he strode back into his bedroom and toweled off roughly. He pulled on a clean pair of baggy sweatpants and an undershirt. When the undershirt fell loosely about his frame, Ducky mentally sighed. He surely hadn't lost that much weight; he didn't miss that many meals, but the shirt was supposed to be tight-fitting instead of baggy enough for someone to run their hands up under the thin cotton.

His stomach rumbled softly, informing him that perhaps he had missed too many meals. Slowly, Ducky slipped on his glasses and trotted from his rooms and down the stairs. He glanced toward the guest room and wondered if Jethro was ever planning on getting up. With a sigh, he entered the kitchen and began to brew coffee. The heavy, aromatic scent was sweet as the coffee began to drip. He turned and selected a pan, setting it on the large stove, before moving to the refrigerator that hulked in the corner of the large kitchen. He opened the door and pulled out a carton of eggs, a bag of bagels and a jar of strawberry jam. He placed the food on the counter-top before pulling down a bowl, into which he cracked a few eggs before returning the carton to the fridge. Ducky pulled open a drawer and grabbed a long fork and began to beat the eggs into a smooth fluid.

A small drop of canola oil hit the center of a pan with a hiss. With a spatula, he spread the oil about before pouring in the eggs and proceeding to make scrambled eggs. He placed a halved bagel in the toaster before returning his attention to the eggs. By the time his bagel popped up, the eggs were done, and he was dishing them onto a small plate. He pulled one of the bagel halves out of the toaster, spread jam on the hot surface and placed it on his plate before fixing a cup of coffee and moving to the small breakfast nook set in a wall of bay windows. He slowly ate, sipping his coffee, and watched a couple of birds flit past the window. Ducky finished his cup of coffee and got to his feet, placing his dishes in the sink before strolling into the downstairs study.

Ducky settled down in one of the large leather chairs and picked up an album from the table nearby. He flipped slowly through the old, worn-soft paper until he found the one page he had been looking for. He traced his finger down the crinkled picture of his father, grinning widely, with little Illya balanced on his knee. His father, Peter, had been exceptionally tall with unruly black hair that was only combed with his father's blunt fingers. His father, much like Ducky, had had soft, pale blue eyes that always seemed to be twinkling with mirth and a mouth always twisted into a smile or opened in a deep, booming laugh, set in a shaggy, heavy beard. He trailed his finger down his father's grinning face before looking at his own small self. Ducky had been five at the time the picture was taken, almost too skinny with nearly-white blonde hair and transparent skin.

Jethro's voice was soft as it whispered over his ear. "Whatcha got there Duck?" Ducky ran a hand over his mouth slowly. "My father." His voice cracked as he glanced at the younger man, seeing the look on Jethro's face, he rephrased his answer. "My real father. In 1957, on the 13th of September, I was born Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. My father, Peter, was a gypsy in Russia during the second rise of communism. I was the youngest boy in our family, born sixth out of seven children." He traced the picture again as Jethro came around and sat down on the sofa, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. "Our family was poverty stricken, which was even worse considering Russia's economy at the time." He flipped the page and looked down at his mother. "My mother, Ana, never loved me. She stopped loving the boys after her second." Jethro patted the sofa next to him. "Come show me those pictures Duck."

Slowly, he got to his feet and sat down next to the younger man. His body shook slightly, but he continued. "My mother did not like my father being a gypsy, and she did not approve of his ideas. My father taught us children to not trust on the government. He told us often that the communist act was not going to last. That Marx's idea of an ideal world through communism was just that, idealism that the world was incapable of producing. He told us over and over that the government was incapable of taking care of us, and he would beckon toward our empty ice box and point at our hungry bellies as proof." Ducky flipped a few pages and stroked his fingers over the only picture of him and his six siblings together. He tapped the tallest boy. "Peter was the oldest," and he followed the line of children down to the end of the second row, naming off his siblings. "Then Viktor, Naomi, Kirsten, Nik, myself, and Hana. This is the only picture of all of us together. My father's death tore us apart." He took a deep breath and closed the album with a soft thud. Ducky laced his fingers together on top of the old book and leaned his head back, eyes closed.

"My father, the only one in that family to love me, was killed when I was fourteen. One night, the KGB broke down our door and dragged my father outside. They beat him to death because someone had talked about my father's dislike of the communist ideal. Then the officers dragged my siblings and me out onto the snow-covered lawn and made an example of our dead father. I still remember him laying there, his face swollen and purple, his smiling lips curled in a grimace and split. His ragged clothes torn and his limbs twisted in unnatural ways." Ducky covered his mouth with his hand and breathed deeply. "Then they took Peter, who was 19, Viktor who was 18, and Nik who was 16 away. We never saw them again. I was the only boy left, and my mother hated me the most. My father always told me that she hated me simply because he loved me more than any of his other children and because I was independent."

Ducky sat up and stared down at his linked fingers, unwilling to look at Jethro, even though he knew the younger man was staring at him. "My mother became irate at me a few months after my father was murdered, and she sent me to St. Petersburg to make money to help support the family by…by selling my body for a small price. She always told me I was too pretty to be a boy; that I should have been born a girl instead. I was just another prostitute in that dirty city, jumping at any money just to keep myself alive. I was beaten, abused, and raped. I went hungry for days and often my skin was blue. A little while after I turned 15, I met Nichols Neichov, one of the few remaining rich people in Russia. He took me off the streets and tutored me himself in many different subjects. I learned five languages from him: English, French, German, Italian, and Latin. He taught me anatomy, history, English and composition, algebra, calculus, geography and chemistry for the next year, and when I turned 17, he enlisted me in Edinburgh. I graduated when I was 19, and I returned to work for Mr. Neichov, who was a doctor. Instead, the KGB got me at the airport and forced me to become an agent for them. I was enlisted with my best friend, Ian Trebsky."

He tiredly rubbed his eyes and forced himself to look at Jethro; the younger man was staring at him with a carefully guarded gaze. "The next year, the KGB sent me to New York as a liaison agent with the UNCLE organization. Within a few months, Napoleon Solo, the man from the hospital, became my partner. A little after my first year at UNCLE, Napoleon began coming on to me, which then led to a relationship. He was impulsive and reckless, especially when I was involved. There were a few affairs, or missions, that actually put my life on the line. Napoleon liked to have me waiting for him, so he would wait until the last minute to sweep in and save me. That is how I got the scar on my leg, because Napoleon waited too long and let me be tortured and assaulted for six days before he showed up. He cheated on me all the time and I finally got tired of it. But every time I tried to leave, something would happen. Napoleon did not like to lose, and he was losing me. So, he would find a way to place me in Medical, and it would push back my leaving, until I finally tendered my resignation with Mr. Waverly, the organization's supervisor. And here I am. You've known me from that point on."

Unable to read Jethro's expression, Ducky looked down and stammered. "Jethro…I did not want to tell anyone about my past—including you. I wanted a chance to start over new, to start out with money and someone loving me. I was trying to forget about all the bad things in my previous life." He looked up at the younger man with a soft simper. "And, I did not want you to leave me, but it seems as if I have messed this life up too."

Ducky ran his tongue over his bottom lip nervously, waiting for Jethro to say something. He felt tears sting the backs of his eyes and looked down at the sofa. "Duck…" he looked up at Jethro and was surprised when the other's rough hand came up against his cheek as the younger man's lips crashed against his. Jethro's body pressed hard against his, forcing him back onto the couch as the other's slick tongue pressed incessantly against Ducky's lips. With a soft gasp, Ducky gave himself over to the kiss, tentatively sliding his tongue along Jethro's. The younger man's hips collided with his, and Ducky flushed when Jethro's hard arousal pressed against his thigh. Unable to help himself, he moaned and arched up into the kiss. He felt a hand tangle in his hair and allowed his arms to wrap around Jethro's neck. Ducky pulled himself as close to the younger man as he could.

Jethro pulled back slowly, and Ducky greedily gasped in air, panting against the other's lips. He glanced up at Jethro through smudged lenses and blinked slowly. "Duck, you couldn't make me leave if you tried. Wanna go somewhere more comfortable?" Ducky felt self-conscious all of a sudden, aware that he was no longer 20. His heart beat erratically in his ears, making it hard to think, but he vaguely realized he was nodding.

That hot, hard body slipped off his own frame and left Ducky feeling cold. He drew in a shuddering breath at the look Jethro was giving him, at the darkened eyes that hinted at so much more than simple, primal need. Slowly, Ducky got to his feet and forced his knees to be strong. Jethro reached out and took hold of his hand gingerly before Ducky turned his back on the younger man and led Jethro toward his bedroom. His free hand clutched at the hand-rail as he walked up the stairs on unsteady legs. He could feel Jethro's fingers curled against his own.

His mind was hurtling over every little thing he had said, and nowhere could he find a sexual invitation. Nowhere could he find something that would bring this on. In his chest, his heart wrenched at the thought of Jethro simply just yanking Ducky around by his heartstrings.

The door to his bedroom fell open with a whisper, and Ducky released Jethro's hand to enter the room and remove his glasses, placing the lenses on the dresser. His heart was kicking wildly in his chest as he approached his bed. Without even the certainty that Jethro was in his room, Ducky dropped his gaze to the floor and began to undress. His shirt had barely touched the wooden floor when Jethro shut the door and was upon him. Blunt fingers combed into Ducky's soft hair, palms cupped the back of his skull as Jethro angled his mouth for a kiss. The kiss was possessive and loving, hard and demanding. The cloth of Jethro's shirt was almost rough against his skin, and Ducky pressed closer, his fingers winding their way into the front of the younger man's shirt.

Jethro's kiss pulled the strength from his knees, and he fell back onto the made-up surface of his bed, pulling Jethro down with him. The other man's weight was heavy and hard, almost smothering. It felt good. Softly, he moaned into Jethro's mouth, pressing close. Slowly, Jethro pulled back, panting hard and flushed beautifully. "Wow," the younger breathed, and Ducky blushed. He made eye contact for a brief moment, until he remembered his place and respectfully looked away.

He slumped into the soft mattress, looking up at Jethro. The rough pad of the younger man's thumb brushed his cheek in a soft caress. "You really are beautiful, Duck. You know that, right?" He tried to whisper out some words, to rebuff the tender comment, but couldn't. His throat had tightened, and instead all he could do was look away and bite his lip. Jethro's hot mouth ran slowly down his neck, and Ducky could feel his pulse thundering against the slick skin of a tongue.

Whimpers and moans pulled themselves breathlessly from the walls of his chest as his fingers clutched at Jethro's strong back, digging into shoulders as he shifted restlessly under the younger. Finally, his fingers touched the hem of Jethro's t-shirt, and he pulled the shirt off quickly. Jethro's fingers were slipping and gliding down his chest, his ribs and his stomach, making Ducky squirm and leaving him short of breath. "You're so smooth," Jethro murmured in a husky voice that made Ducky blush for some unknown reason. He slit his eyes and looked at Jethro who was staring down at him in something akin to wonderment. Ducky wondered how long it had been since someone last appreciated his body the way Jethro seemed to be.

His breath was harsh, stilted pants, and Jethro stared down at him with nearly black eyes. Jethro spread a broad hand above his heart, and he could feel the throbbing organ jumping against his ribs, almost as if dying for Jethro's simple touch. "Okay Duck?" There was, unless he was mistaken (which was highly unlikely), actual concern in Jethro's tone as the younger man stared down at him for a while. Instead of answering, he leaned up just far enough to brush his lips gingerly along Jethro's. The fire that was breathing, living in his belly had died down just enough for his blood to slow to just a steady pull rather than a heady thrum.

Jethro kissed him again, slow and languidly, and Ducky felt the sluggish fire suck all the oxygen from his lungs and set the flames of passion licking throughout his body. He ran his own fingers up over Jethro's shoulders to dig into Jethro's taunt skin. Jethro's hips pressed down hard against his, sending heat screaming through his frame. Unthinkingly, Ducky's hips drew up against Jethro's, and the contact dried up all his breath. A shudder tripped hard through his limbs. Jethro's hands gently pulled down his frame, scraping over his chest and ribs to catch at his hips. Slowly, Jethro slipped Ducky's sweatpants from his hips.

Ducky was unable to keep the blush concealed as Jethro's mouth fell open in shock. Slowly, those dark eyes roamed back up Ducky's pale skin to catch hold of Ducky's gaze. "You…don't wear boxers?" Ducky bit his bottom lip and tore his gaze away. Jethro's fingertips glanced along his arousal, pulling Ducky's hips up with the lingering touch. "I-I only wear boxers to work…" his sentence was bitten off by a breathless moan. Jethro chuckled softly, "Maybe I should stay over more often?" There was no mistaking what Jethro was implying, and Ducky lifted his ashamed gaze to meet the younger's. There was an impish smile curling Jethro's lips, taking years and sorrows off.

Suddenly, Jethro pushed off the bed and began to fumble with his jeans. Ducky took a calming breath and rolled over onto his hands and knees, as he'd been taught by Napoleon Solo and others like Solo. He felt the bed dip behind him, and warm, broad hands roamed up his back before a mouth dipped down to the ink marring his skin. Ducky gasped in a soft breath as a slick tongue traced a line of the tattoo. One of Jethro's hands scorched the skin pulled tight along his hip and gently eased Ducky over onto his back, his face dropping to nuzzle the crook of Duck's neck. "I wanna look at you Duck."

That simple sentence made Ducky's heart feel dangerously close to combustion. It made it seem as if the whole sex thing wasn't going to just be another rut. Jethro's lips touched his as soon as Ducky's back touched the bed. Fingertips once against curled in Ducky's hair as Jethro's hips pressed down tight against Ducky's. The contact drew him insane, forced his head back, and for the first time, he realized soft words were streaming from his lips.

Jethro had pulled back and was staring down at him, and Ducky could feel the dark gaze on his skin. Slowly, he opened his eyes, somewhat ashamed, and met that unwavering stare. "Uh…" Ducky cleared his throat which was somewhat hoarse from using an unused language. "Sorry…I suppose is what I should say, yes?" Jethro continued to look at him, as if the world outside of Ducky's bedroom did not exist. "Duck," Jethro murmured while brushing his lips against Ducky's softly, "were you talkin' dirty to me in Russian?" He was unable to keep the blush away as his unused blood rushed to scorch his cheeks. "Perhaps." Something in Jethro's eyes changed, and Ducky wetted his lips nervously.

Those hard lips crashed down on his, and the moan that erupted from the melded mouths wasn't his this time. Jethro's hands curled in his hair, holding Ducky still as hips ground down against his. The soft cotton boxers did nothing to keep Ducky from feeling the hot, hard arousal that rubbed against his own erection. He was whimpering, writhing beneath the stronger, younger man. In his chest, his heart was slamming against his ribs and his ribs were jerking with every breath. The simple fact that it was _Jethro_ touching him, rubbing against him, kissing him was what drove his senses to a new height.

Slowly, Jethro pulled back and kicked off his boxers. Ducky kept his gaze locked on the younger man's gaze. When their hips collided this time, there was nothing to keep skin from touching skin, and Ducky tossed his head back in bliss, only slightly aware of the prayer falling from his lips.

Jethro's right hand was skating gingerly down his body, while the left kept the younger poised above him. Their lips melded together, effectively cutting off the babble of Russian and allowing Jethro to swallow his moan when Jethro's broad, calloused hand curled around both of their erections and began to move. Ducky felt his back bow, pressing hard into the strong, loose grip of Jethro's hand. Jethro was stroking their erections together, and Ducky knew he wasn't going to last. He was gasping, moaning, and pleading incoherently. Mumbled Russian was tumbling from his lips as his hand grasped at Jethro's arm as he started to cum. Jethro continued touching him, stroking their erections together even as Ducky finally finished, eyes squeezed shut because it was all almost too much.

He felt Jethro's lips brush his ear, the soft and damp hair above his ear. He almost didn't hear the barely breathed words, "I love you Duck. Always." And then he broke. Curling away from the man above him as best he could, he tried to squeeze his eyes closed tighter, a feeble attempt to keep the tears in. His chest hitched painfully, and he just waited for Jethro to leave. That was what people did when they supposedly loved you.

Shame burned through him tight, eradicating the last vestiges of pleasures, as the tears finally made their way out from under his lashes. He tried to bury his face in the soft pillow, but Jethro caught his jaw, forcing his head into stillness. But still, he didn't open his eyes. "Ducky?" He refused to open his eyes. "Ducky…" Refused to see the mockery he was sure to find. "Duck." That voice brooked no argument, and he slowly opened his eyes. Ducky gasped in breaths, trying to slow his breathing, to calm down, even as tears made their way out of the corners of his eyes.

Jethro's thumb brushed his damp cheek, and those dark eyes searched his. "What's wrong? I…did I do something?" He tried to turn his head away, but Jethro held him still, that intense gaze imploring him to share his secrets. He felt the tears start anew, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep from making a fool of himself. "You…you told me you loved me." A small blush skirted Jethro's cheekbones, but the younger nodded forcefully, "And I meant it Duck." His heart was beating hard in his chest, his stomach twisting sharply. "I'm just waiting for you to leave…" he whispered. Jethro shook his head, brushing his lips over Ducky's tenderly, "I'm not gonna leave."

Then Jethro slumped listlessly beside him, strong, tawny arms curling around Ducky's frame and pulling him against his chest. "I promise Duck. I'm not going anywhere, unless you're going too." Ducky sighed softly as blunt fingertips traced the sharp lines of the wolf tattoo on his back, the words soothing his aching heart. He pressed his ear close to Jethro's chest, listening to the strong, hard beat of the younger man's heart. "Hey Duck," the other asked softly, his voice a deep rumble in the pit of Ducky's ear. "Hmm?" Jethro leaned back softly and peered down at him with deep blue eyes, his fingertips still trailing lightly over the tribal tattoo spread across his back. "Tell me about this tattoo. I never thought you would have one…"

Smiling softly, Ducky pressed close against the younger and relaxed. "When I was at Edinburgh, I met my best friend Ian. I was 17; he was nearly 19. We were roommates and eventually, we became lovers. He was the one person I could tell everything to, and I thought I loved him. Before we were to return to St. Petersburg, he convinced me to go with him to get a tattoo. He got a bear, to show nationalism for Russia. And somehow, I wound up getting a wolf. Ian had always called me his pet; that was his term of endearment for me, so it kind of fit. Of course, after the KGB forced the both of us to enlist, we rarely saw each other and we began to drift apart. Then one day, the higher officers took Ian outside and shot him. I never figured out the reason why. I suppose I should have gotten the thing removed, but it reminded me of my youth, of careless by-gone days and I could never worm up my courage to get it removed. Besides, all my lovers since then have been decidedly interested in it."

Softly, Jethro laughed. "Well, I plan on being the last of your lovers, if you'll have me…" Ducky felt his body tremble lightly, which made Jethro's arms tighten around him just barely. He placed a hand on that broad, tawny chest and pushed back just enough so that he could look into Jethro's dark eyes. "Of course…until you get tired of me, of course." He looked away at the last of his sentence, unable to continue making eye contact with that dark, intense gaze. "Not gonna happen Duck," Jethro told him softly, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He turned his gaze back to Jethro's, pressing a light kiss on that stern mouth, "Well…I guess you'll just have to stick around and prove it."

Jethro laughed, a full sound that made his heart skip in his chest, before the younger man snuggled down more fully into the soft covers, making himself more comfortable. "Deal," the arms around his waist tightened more, and he felt Jethro's face bury in the crook of his neck, "I won't move from this spot until I have to." Ducky smiled, feeling Jethro's eyelashes on his neck, the slow heavy breathing as the younger started to drift off. He dropped his head back, eyes closing, and for the first time in a long while, no bodies haunted his thoughts, no toying memories held his mind hostage. And he slept.

Fin.


	2. Jethro

Title: The Good Doctor Affair II

A/N: Jethro's part of the affair.

Disclaim: Don't own NCIS or The Man from UNCLE. I have, however, meshed the characters together and played around with time. So bear with me. Mild spoilers for Meat Puzzle.

**1987**

Without any hesitation, Jethro Gibbs stepped up to the table and enlisted into the Marine Corps. He felt a little lighter with the hard part done…well until his training started. He smiled softly and made his way back to his car.

By the time he got back home, another car was in his parking spot outside his house. Shannon, his older girlfriend was leaned against her car, staring at him. Shannon was 22, he was 19, and they'd been dating for the past two years.

"Hey," he said getting out of the car, shutting the door and walking up to the redhead. He kissed her lightly on the lips and went to move toward the house, but her hand caught hold of his and pulled him back.

"Jethro…we've got to talk." He cocked his head in a puzzled manner, but stopped and held her hand. "Alright. Whatcha need to talk about?" Shannon took a deep breath, and her deep green eyes shifted up to his own dark gaze with a look of uncertainty. "Well, you know how I went to the hospital today, well…" His brow furrowed as she paused, her gaze shifting down to the ground. "It turns out I'm pregnant."

His heart stopped. He had just enlisted into the Marines, and his girlfriend was pregnant. "What?" She looked up at him, her soft eyes imploring him not to be mad. He let out a heavy breath; Shannon had put him in this mess, it was her who always told him not to use condoms because she didn't like them. Of course, he mentally scolded himself, he should have used the rubbers anyway.

"Well, I can give you two-hundred dollars to get an abortion." Her forlorn gaze shifted to his, but he could see something flickering in those jade-coloured eyes. "Jethro, I'm twelve weeks pregnant." He set his lips in a grim line, nodding his head simply because at twelve weeks, a fetus was considered a living being in Virginia.

He knew what he had to do. Slowly, he dropped to one knee, and he took her hand. "Shannon, there isn't much I can offer you, but I…I love you. Will you marry me?" She laughed, leaned down and kissed him full on the mouth. "Yes," she squealed against his mouth before tearing away to tell her mother.

As he watched Shannon leave his house, he stared down at the ground. He had planned on dumping her in a few days, but he couldn't now. With dragging feet, he entered his house and looked at his dad, sprawled out on the couch watching TV. "Hey boy! You sign up for the Corps today?" He smiled at his dad, who was grinning at him. "Yeah dad, I sure did."

His dad sat up on the couch, looking at him with an excited look. "Well, why you look so sad boy? You're gonna help protect this fine nation." He slumped down on the couch next to his father. "Uh dad," he said rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "can we talk?" His dad gave him a searching look. "What've you done this time boy?"

"Shannon's pregnant and I…kinda asked her to marry me." His dad's dark gaze darkened in anger. "What the hell is the matter with you Leroy Jethro Gibbs?!" Jethro got to his feet and glared down at his dad. "The kid's mine, she can't get an abortion, so I gotta take care of it dad. I gotta fix my problem, and not just run away. YOU told me that." His dad glared at him, set his lips in a tight line. "Get outta my house."

Jethro stomped from his house and slammed the door behind him, got into his car and left in a squeal of tires.

**1991**

He lay in bed, eyes closed and breathing, simply remembering. He remembered kissing Shannon goodbye, despite the fact that they were having problems, and he had already started to file the divorce papers. He remembered hugging and kissing Kelly goodbye, his beautiful little girl who he would gladly quit the Corps for.

Hell, he even remembered the car bomb that had sent him spiraling down into the coma that he currently occupied. But he was content with the blackness, because it gave him to ability to pick through his memories.

Over the last few days, he'd picked over his memories with such care. He missed his daughter something fierce, and made a resolution to divorce Shannon once he returned to the States, just as he did every time he was stationed overseas but never followed through with once he returned home to Virginia.

"Well, you certainly seem fine," said a lilting voice somewhere above him, flavoured with a British accent. A new doctor, he figured as he listened to the pages of his chart being overturned. "The name Leroy does not become you, Gunny." Something about that voice cleared the darkness from his mind, and his heavy eyelids peeled back to allow him to look at the new doctor. The cultured accent couldn't have prepared him, as he thought it would be an old man with greying hair and a potbelly.

The man standing at the foot of his hospital bed was…oddly beautiful. Heavy blonde hair fringed in front of circular glasses, and he wetted his lips self-consciously. He was suddenly painfully aware of the soot that matted his hair, and the charred skin that was pulled tight against his facial bones. Soft blue eyes came into view when the clipboard was lowered, and he could clearly read the shock in that gaze. "Jethro," he croaked out and mentally kicked himself. Not exactly the first impression he liked to give when he met an attractive person. Sure, he'd never kissed a guy, or ever really found them all that attractive, but the man in front of him was beautiful.

Soft looking lips curled into a smile that crinkled those soft eyes and added colour to the young doctor's smooth cheeks. "Ah. Jethro. I dare say it fits you better." The young man picked up a Styrofoam cup, leaned closer and held the cup to Jethro's lips. He almost wished that the doctor hadn't done so, despite the fact that his throat was terribly parched, because he could suddenly see the clear, soft blueness of the other's eyes, flecked with silver and rimmed with long, sooty lashes. He mentally groaned, because back at the foot of the bed the doc had been beautiful but up close he was nearly angelic.

When the door banged open, he was able to breathe again. A tanned, gruff-looking man swept into the room. "Excuse us Doctor," and the man shoved his doctor away, and Jethro could just barely force down the rage. The doctor just gave a simper of a smile, "But of course," and the young blonde disappeared from view. He turned a glower on the man, but the man seemed undisturbed by it. "Gunny, my name is Special Agent Mike Franks, and I'm with the Naval Investigative Service." Jethro felt his heart tumble into his stomach, because every sailor knew that NIS only showed up when something bad happened. Numbed by the realization, he nodded and looked at the man, Franks. "I'm sorry to inform you that your wife and daughter are dead. The drug dealer that your wife was set to testify against had her killed; the protection agent was sniped in the head, the van went off the road and they were killed. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Franks' hand touched his shoulder just briefly, but Jethro fought down the remark that Franks would never get it. Instead, he simply nodded his head jerkily. The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip briefly before Franks left. Jethro slumped back into his messed up bedclothes and stared at the nondescript ceiling, thinking how much he hated hospitals.

He hurt, like someone had just ripped his heart out. Sure, at one point in time, he _had_ loved Shannon, but he knew they wouldn't have lasted without Kelly there. He loved Kelly more than life itself, and that's why he was suddenly crying. Slowly, he sat back up, dropped his head in his hands and cried. He waved the nurse away when she offered to fetch Doctor Mallard, though she had at first called him Ducky. Instead, he simply wallowed in his aches until he was thoroughly numbed.

The bandages wrapped about his hands absorbed his tears, and his breath left his chest in deep shudders. "Are you alright," asked a soft voice, and Jethro looked up at the doctor. He wanted someone to hold him, and he realized that he really wanted that someone to be his doctor. Slowly, gingerly Doctor Mallard sat down beside him on the bed.

The man was so close that he could smell hints of the man's soap; Ducky's smooth skin smelled like sage, cloves and peppermint. He felt tears slip down his face as he stared in Ducky's soft blue eyes. "Would you like to talk about it?" And he was given his moment. Unthinkingly, acting simply on instinct, Jethro threw his arms about the doctor's neck, buried his face in the crook of the other man's neck while his fingers dug into the relaxed set of shoulders. He could feel the slight tremor that belied the doctor's cool resolve and hinted at just a little discomfort at the embrace. But slowly, the good doctor returned the embrace, gingerly patting Jethro's back.

"Aw Duck, they're gone." He didn't feel bad for using the nickname, despite them never being properly introduced. He was _Jethro's _doctor, and that was all the introduction he needed. "There, there. It will be all right." Jethro could feel himself starting to relax, could feel his tears shrivel up just being in touch with this man, and it scared him. Never had he experienced anything like that. He drew back, forcing a hateful glare into his gaze as he stared into the unwavering gaze of Doctor Ducky Mallard.

It nearly killed him though when Ducky pulled himself free from Jethro's embrace, despite the fact that he knew it was his fault Ducky was pulling back in the first place. Ducky's soft gaze turned a little icy, and his narrow hands smoothed down his white coat. "Time will eventually numb your wounds; but only you can heal them." In his heart, he believed his doctor; after all, Duck was the one with the medical degree, and his pretty blue eyes couldn't hold a lie even if the good doctor tried. "How would you know." He gave Duck a glare, but then proceeded to feel like shit as Duck squared his shoulders and stared straight into his eyes; Jethro would've swore that he could feel that gaze stroking his soul.

"When I was very young, my father was killed. He was struck by a drunk driver, thrown 50 meters and bled out from a head wound on a cobblestone lane in Manchester. My mother, unwilling to let him go, married a man who looked almost exactly as my father did. It was a terrible trauma for a little boy of five to have inflicted when every day he had to come home and stare at his dead father, who wasn't really his father." Jethro felt suddenly guilty, but before he could say something, Ducky had looked away. "It's like telling a small child that Santa isn't real, then dressing up as jolly Saint Nick and eating dinner with the child every night." He felt his heart break as Duck simply disappeared back into the hospital.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped back into the mountain of pillows behind his back and tried to ignore the pain jabbing between his ribs. He rolled over onto his side and stared out the window, deciding to patiently wait for his doc to come back.

But days passed and the week finally ended. He was to be released, and something in him wouldn't let him return to the States without saying goodbye to Duck. So he waited for the other man at the reception desk, cleaned and burn free, dressed in his pressed khaki uniform to try and make up for his somewhat lacking first impression. His duffle bag rested at his feet, and when the glass doors breathed open, he looked over at his doctor. But the young doctor adamantly refused to acknowledge his presence and simply slipped behind the desk without saying a word.

"I'm leaving today," he said softly, and those soft blue eyes rose to his own dark gaze. "I'm going back to Virginia before a twelve-month deployment." Ducky went back to his paperwork without a single word. "And I was wondering if I could get a ride to the airport. I'll buy you lunch first." Finally Ducky placed his pen down and gave Jethro his full attention. That steady gaze made his heart flutter. "When does your flight leave Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs?" The complete title took him off guard, as well as drove a sharp stake through his heart. The doctor's tone was bitter and carefully emotionless. It hurt. "Look, Ducky. I was an ass, okay? Can't we just forget it?"

He could see the other man was engaged in an inner battle, but soon the emotions were washed away by a smooth smile. Jethro realized he could easily fall in love with that smile. "Don't make a habit of it Jethro." He felt hopefulness rise heavy in his soul. "So…you'll drive me to the airport?" Duck's soft blonde eyebrows rose in an almost tender question. "What happened to lunch?" He laughed and began to nod eagerly, glad that the other had agreed. "Of course. Lunch. How about I meet you here at eleven hundred?" His heart fluttered in his chest as Ducky nodded slowly, a tender smile creeping across his soft-looking lips.

Finally, Jethro walked back to his room, his duffle bag draped over his shoulder. He sat on his bunk, his heart fluttering madly in his chest, as he thought about Duck. He tried not to think of the lunch appointment as a date, but when he thought of it as a date, his heart went crazy. He turned his gaze to the wall clock, watching as the hands of the machine ticked past each mark. There were fifteen minutes left until he was supposed to meet Duck, but he got to his feet and made his way back to the reception desk.

Slowly, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as he watched Ducky return to the reception area. The smile nearly tore his lips apart in its mad haste to curl his mouth; instead he simply swallowed the joy but could still feel the smile in his eyes. "Ready to go, Duck?" His breath nearly dried in his throat when Ducky casually removed his doctor's coat, neatly folded the white fabric and placed the coat on the desk. He let his gaze follow Ducky's retreating form before following the young doctor to the doctor's lounge. All thoughts fled his mind as he stepped into the lounge, only to be met with a stripping doctor. He couldn't help but let his gaze travel over the torso revealed as the thin green shirt was pulled up to reveal a tight undershirt. Soon the tight shirt was covered by a button-down shirt.

There was a slight moment of hesitation before Ducky resumed undressing from his scrubs and back into street clothes, or rather what Ducky considered street clothes. "Ready now?" And Jethro hoped that his voice didn't sound too breathless. Slowly, Ducky nodded, "Yes." But neither of them moved, and Jethro swore he could feel his heart thundering in his chest. He stared at the young doctor, feeling just a little lost in that soft blue gaze. Finally, Duck cleared his throat. "So, uh, shall we proceed?" Jethro snapped back and hurriedly opened the door. "Yeah."

Without a second thought, Jethro placed his hand on the small of Ducky's back, and tried to ignore the fact that it felt right. He felt the slight tension in the young doctor's back but was unable to keep his hands off Duck. He opened the car door for the young doctor, and closed the door behind the other once Ducky had settled into the seat. In his excitement, he nearly ran to the driver's side of the government-issued car.

He was, for the first time in a long time, truly happy, and he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Uncaring of the cost, he drove to an expensive restaurant simply because he wished to wine and dine the good doctor like no other had before him. He, of course, pushed the reason as to why he was acting thusly down below his thoughts and reveled in the happiness the doctor had brought into his life.

They sat in the silent car before the restaurant while Jethro tried to steady his heartbeat before plucking the keys from the ignition and looking over at Ducky. "Well, you ready?" He could see a brief moment of hesitation in the other's gaze, and he simply waited. He decided that he really didn't mind waiting for Ducky. Slowly, the young doctor nodded, and Jethro clamoured out of the car, rushed to the passenger's side, pulled the car door open and waited patiently for Ducky to get out of the car. Once the young doctor had gotten out of the car, Jethro rushed to open the door to the restaurant and watched Ducky with a patient kind of love. A soft blush skirted across Ducky's fair skin, and he felt a little shaft of fondness bury into his heart; the fondness was dimmed softly by concern when he noticed the twinge of pain that traced across Ducky's sweet face, the way his hand brushed his right leg and then the forced look of pain away. Jethro tried to ignore the look and instead ushered Ducky into the restaurant.

Inside the restaurant, the air was cool and the décor was subtle yet nice. He followed the maître d' with Ducky lagging behind him to a secluded table like he'd asked for. Jethro sat after Ducky had, picked up the menu and watched as his lunch companion paled at the prices of food. He was surprised at this because Ducky had come from a world of wealth, but a tinge in his gut made Jethro curious.

Their waiter, a young man in black and white formals, sidled up to the table, placed glasses of water on the table, accepted orders for drinks and then asked if they were ready to place their meal order. Without so much as a look toward Ducky, he nodded. He kept his gaze locked on the waiter's, keeping the young man's gaze locked on his. He calmly ordered, uncaring about the price. After the man in formals had left, Jethro looked at Ducky, who was glaring back.

"What was that?" Jethro mentally flinched at the sharp edge to the young doctor's tone. Forcing his tone to be tender, Jethro answered. "Me ordering for you, Duck." Ducky's glare turned into a glower as his soft looking lips pursed in a pout. The pout was, in Jethro's opinion, completely adorable and utterly kissable. He smiled at the doctor. "I'm taking you out for a treat. I don't want you to order something cheap." Ducky ignored him, choosing to take a sip of his water rather than answer Jethro. He watched the young doctor replace his water glass before asking the question. "How'd you hurt your leg?"

He noticed the way Duck's right hand slipped beneath the table to rest along his thigh. He watched Ducky's pale eyes glass over briefly, as if remembering before the young doctor answered. "I got hurt during a skiing accident. For my 16th birthday, my parents took me to the Swiss Alps for a skiing trip. On one of the slopes, my ski hit a rock and tripped me. I broke my leg in the consequent fall." His gut twinged as if in disagreement, but Jethro pushed his questioning away. Slowly, he nodded. "So your family is pretty well off." Ducky seemed to hesitate before nodding. "Old money," was all Duck said before the young doctor took a sip of his tea.

The waiter swept past, informing them on the fly that their food would be out shortly before disappearing from view. Jethro returned his attention to Duck. "So…how old are you Ducky?" Duck just stared at him for a long moment with wide eyes before answering. "I turn 31 in September. Why? How old did you think I was?" Jethro cocked his head and stared hard at Ducky, but his gut didn't even twitch. The older man didn't really look 37, maybe mid-twenties if that. "I thought maybe 26," he said softly, watching as the young doctor smoothed down the tablecloth nervously. "And how old are you Jethro?"

Jethro felt his lips split in a grin. "I just turned 23 in January." Ducky nodded slowly, as if preparing to reply when their waiter reappeared with another man in black-and-white at his elbow. Both carried heavy trays. Roasted duck and boiled potatoes with leeks, thick potato soup, nearly a loaf of bread and a large bowl of salad were loaded onto the table, and Jethro nearly grinned at the look on Ducky's face. Slowly, Ducky took a sip of tea before beginning to fill his plate. The young doctor kept looking at Jethro's plate as if checking to make sure that he wasn't getting too much food. On the inside, Jethro couldn't keep the smile from rising in his heart as he watched his doctor eat in meal. The young doctor seemed to forcing himself to eat slowly.

Quickly, Jethro finished his meal and simply watched the other. Two hours passed in, what seemed like, the blink of an eye. Ducky appeared to go back over the remains of the meal before leaning back in his chair with a pleased sigh. He couldn't keep from staring at the content man in front of him, who almost appeared to glow from the excellent food. Ducky glanced up at him, a confused look furrowing his brow. "…What?" Jethro smiled softly and shook his head. "Where does it all go?"

The blush that raged across Ducky's face was quite endearing, but Jethro knew that the other was embarrassed so he hastened to explain. "I know what you've got under that shirt, and it isn't a whole dinner's worth of soft stomach. So where does it go?" Ducky watched him for a brief moment before explaining in a somewhat embarrassed way. "I just don't really ever have the time to eat properly. It seems as if I'm always in surgery or doing some such nonsense like paperwork." Jethro laughed softly before casually checking his watch. Ducky put his tea back on the table. "What time does your flight leave?" Jethro glanced up at him. "1500. We have a little under an hour left."

Suddenly that simple hour didn't seem enough. Jethro was painfully aware that the meal would, in all probability, be the last time he ever saw this endearing, beautiful, brilliant young man, and he desperately wanted to know all there was to know about the enchanting young doctor sitting just across the table. After a beat, Ducky looked up at him. "Well, what do you want to do Jethro? Since, we've nearly an hour left." Jethro steeled his courage before asking, "Tell me about yourself."

"Such as?" Ducky asked, lifting a brow. Jethro simply shrugged, as if he didn't care, but there were certain things he desperately wanted to know. "Your family, your friends, lovers, experiences…you know, things like that." Ducky slowly nodded. "My parents are divorced; my mother is living in our yearly home in England. My father left for Cairo and a young Jezebel named Alexis. I have an older brother, James; he turned 35 in May and has a lovely wife and three children."

Ducky tapered off, and Jethro leaned forward, prodding the other man along. "What about friends?" He tried to remember everything, because he was well aware of time slipping through his fingers. Finally, Ducky answered "I have a limited number of close friends, but an extremely large number of close acquaintances. My acquaintances span the globe so that the sun never sets on my empire. A good number of those men and women are also in the medical field."

He waited, nearly on the edge of his seat, to hear about possible lovers but it became clear that Duck wasn't going to go into that area without yet another gentle prod. "And relationships?" Jethro grinned as if it didn't hurt that the enchanting young man across from him might be in a relationship, but it did and Jethro didn't look too hard at the reason for the hurt. "Any pretty, little lovers hanging about?" Ducky looked at him almost sadly, sighed and took a sip of tea. "No. My lover and I broke up four years ago. He's mostly the reason why I left my old job; he was always cheating on me."

That admittance filled Jethro with conflicting emotions. One part of his heart was elated that Duck was free; the other part was pissed beyond belief that someone could treat the brilliant young man across from him in that manner. But instead of trying to drag the man's name from Ducky's lips so that Jethro could cause the man bodily harm, he simply nodded gently to show he understood. "It doesn't bother you that I'm gay, Gunny?"

Jethro laughed softly, "Why would it Duck? You seem like a very amazing person." Ducky blushed yet again, and Jethro's heart fluttered mildly in his chest. "Why thank you Jethro," the young doctor said softly. At that moment, the waiter swept back through, refilling glasses and removing dirty plates. Discretely, the young man in black-and-white left the check and scurried off to the kitchen with his arms full of dirty dishes.

He lifted the check and stared at the total amount. $194.63. If it was any other person, Jethro would've mentally cringed, but it was Ducky sitting across from him. So instead, Jethro simply took out two one hundred dollar bills and laid the bills on the table. He glanced back up at the older man. "Ready to go Duck?"

When Ducky got to his feet, Jethro once again couldn't keep his hands off the other and gently steered Duck outside with a hand in the small of the other man's back. He held doors open and ushered Ducky into the car before getting in himself, but he found he was unable to turn the key in the ignition. So instead, they simply sat in the car and looked at the restaurant. After a brief moment, Jethro took a deep breath and asked a very important question to the other. "Do you mind if I write you while I'm gone, since I've no one else to write?" His heart beat erratically in his chest as he waited an answer; Ducky's swallow was soft but audible in the silence of the car. Jethro pushed down the anxiety and steeled himself for the other man to tell him no. He tried to ignore how much that rejection would hurt.

Moments slipped past, and finally Jethro turned and stared at Ducky, who looked a bit nervous. "I suppose it would be alright." Elation hit him hard and split his face in a grin as Jethro pulled Ducky into a hug across the consol. He ignored how right it felt. "Dad and I am not exactly on speaking terms, my mom's dead along with my wife and daughter. You, at least, seem to care." Ducky smiled softly and leaned back into a straight-backed position.

"Right. Just drive the car back to the hospital once I've boarded the plane; someone will be there to pick it up." Jethro started the car up and slowly backed up. He drove at a leisurely pace, more than a little unwilling to give up his new found friendship so soon. The airport parking lot was nearly deserted, and he managed to find a parking spot near the airport's entrance. Once he put the car in park and pulled the keys from the ignition, Jethro rushed to help Ducky out before retrieving his bag from the car's trunk.

Together, they walked into the terminal and right up the Jethro's gate. They stopped just to the side and stared at one another. After a beat, Ducky spoke. "Well Marine, I look forward to your letters." Jethro smiled to keep the hurt at bay but it didn't entirely work as he dropped his bag and pulled Ducky into a hard hug. It was becoming frightfully apparent that he loved the young doctor. "I'll miss you Duck, and you have to promise to reply to the occasion letter. Okay?"

Ducky found a scrap of paper and a pen and proceeded to give Jethro two addresses. "Of course Jethro. I'll reply to them all." He grinned at the endearing, brilliant young man and blinked away the hot tears that clung to the backs of his eyes. A booming voice came on over the intercom, calling Jethro's plane, and he picked up his bag. People began lining up at the gate, and as he got in line as well, Jethro lifted his hand in a wave. "Bye Duck." Ducky returned the wave, "Goodbye Jethro." Jethro followed the line of people away from the terminal, away from Frankfurt…away from his Duck.

He got on the plane and looked out the window. He fancied that he could see Duck, standing in a window, watching the plane leave. His heart ached as the plane pulled from the ground and into the sky. He forlornly watched the clouds wisp past. Hours passed, and all he could do was watch the soft blue sky float past, and it reminded him of Ducky's tender gaze. The thought that he was possibly falling for the older man tied knots in his belly. He didn't exactly know what to feel, but his gut told him that maybe the love wasn't such a bad thing.

A glance at his fellow passengers on the plane revealed young lovers, whole families, old couples…and somehow, they all reminded him of himself and his Ducky. He pulled out the small notebook from his duffle bag and composed his first, of many, letters to the older man.

_Dear Duck,_

_I've barely left Frankfurt, and already I miss you. I miss your soft blue eyes, and your tender smile. I miss your ideas and your stories. Hell, I just miss you. Without you here, the world seems a darker shade of grey. I think that I could fall truly, madly in love with you._

_Jethro_

As he read back through the letter, he flushed. He knew he wouldn't, couldn't send the letter to the man he'd just met. Instead, he left the letter in the notebook, closed the notebook and stared at the speckled black-and-white surface of the book. On the subject line he wrote _To My Duck_. He vowed to himself that he would, one day, give the notebook to Ducky and let his feelings be known; no matter how long it took, how long he had to wait, he would tell the older, brilliant young doctor just how much Jethro cared, loved Ducky.

He leaned his head back against the headrest, and he watched the pale blue whirl past the plane's window and could only think of his doctor.

**1995**

The past few years had, admittedly, been a little rough on Jethro. When he had gone back to Virginia in 1991 and said a proper goodbye to Shannon and Kelly, his heart had broke all over again. This time there was no charming young doctor to take his mind off his dead family. He had gone back to their house and sat in the basement, holding the gun in his hand and just looked at it, unable to pull the trigger because of the pain in his heart.

He knew that the only reason he hadn't pulled the trigger was because of Duck. He had come back from Mexico after killing his wife and daughter's killer for Ducky.

Duck. His Ducky. God, it had become so apparent to him that the older man was just what he needed, that Jethro truly loved the other man as he had loved no one else. He had filled up composition book after composition book of up love letters to the other man that he'd never had the courage to send. In fact, there were three black and white speckled books that were stashed away in his desk drawer at work, and he carried one with him wherever he went.

Mike always asked him what he kept in that bottom drawer, but that was the one thing Jethro wouldn't tell him. He had been working for NCIS and Special Agent Michael Franks for the last four years. Director Morrow loved him, the team loved him, Mike loved him. And for once, Jethro felt happy since walking away from Ducky simply because he had to.

He had finally met someone. She was a red-head, like Shannon and completely unlike Ducky, and her name was Diane. She was funny and interesting and told stories; they'd been dating for a little over a year now. Already, she was dropping hints about marriage, and he knew he'd probably give in.

When he had finally come home after his last deployment, he'd sold his and Shannon's house and bought a new one nearer to the NCIS office. His sleepless nights were spent working on a boat he was building in his basement and calling upon Diane until he fell asleep exhausted, anything to keep from thinking about Duck. But still, the young doctor found his way into his dreams.

He was sitting at his desk, writing yet another letter to Ducky, because even though he had found Diane, he couldn't keep his mind off of Duck. Mike slapped his hand down on his desk, startling him from his writing. He closed the cover and looked up at his boss. "Go get the car Gibbs." He dropped the notebook into the bottom drawer, locking it, before getting to his feet. He had just passed the half-wall when he saw a man starting up the stairs unaccompanied. His training kicked in and in seconds he was crossing the floor and grabbing the man by the upper arm, tugging him around to face Jethro. "Hey. I need to see your-Ducky?"

Shock filled his chest, which was quickly overcome with elation. His heart began to beat quicker, and his fingers tightened just slightly on Ducky's arm, pulling the older man closer just a little. He had almost forgotten how beautiful the young doctor was, how soft looking and kissable his lips were, how blue those eyes were. Then he noticed the look on Ducky's face, the crushed look in those beautiful blue eyes. He felt Frank slap him hard upside the back of his head, growling out "Gibbs! Com'on! We got a dead Marine out in Norfolk." He didn't move, instead just continued to look into the sweet face of Doctor Mallard, before finally finding the words he wanted, needed to say. "This isn't over. You and I are gonna talk. I'll be back, and you better be here."

Ducky just looked back at him, no real change in his expression, before he began pulling away "I have an appointment to keep." He finally let Ducky go, watched him walk up the stairs, and disappear into the Director's office before the spell was broken. His heart curled wretchedly in his heart, feeling wounded, but Jethro moved toward the staircase, not really having time for the elevator. He sprinted down the stairs and toward the car waiting for him by the front doors. Frank gave him a mildly irritated look when he got in. "Looked like the doctor from Frankfurt." Jethro nodded just barely, clicking his seatbelt into place while Frank sped off.

The entire time he and Frank were in Norfolk, he couldn't keep his mind on the case. He let his thoughts, unintentionally, slip back towards Ducky. The thought of Duck working in the NCIS building with him made his heartbeat race. He felt the smile slowly curl across his lips. But then he shook his head, trying to steel himself. He had been trying so hard to dislodge the love for his Duck from his heart, but had been unable to do so, even with Diane. If he were completely honest with himself, there were moments when he, in his mind, saw Ducky stretched beneath him, writhing in pleasure.

Within two hours, he was back at his desk. Jethro kept his eyes pinned on the staircase, waiting for Duck to reemerge. Absentmindedly, he tapped a pencil against his desk in a quick beat. Finally, Shepard snatched the pencil from his fingers. He looked up at her, remembering that she had been one of his many conquests while trying to forget the love just a mere few yards away. "Jethro, please," she stressed, looking hard at him. He opened his mouth to respond, but then he saw Ducky moving slowly down the staircase. The wide grin that had split his soft looking lips made Jethro's heart beat harder and his stomach did an excited twist.

He was across the squad room in seconds, grasping Ducky's arm again and pulling him gently to the side. Jethro watched as that smile slipped slowly from Duck's soft mouth, and he searched those soft blue eyes for a long moment. "What're you doing here Duck?" He noticed as Duck straightened, squaring his shoulders before answering. "Applying for a job." Even though his heart was practically writhing with joy, his brow furrowed in confusion at Duck's attitude, but he couldn't help but want to know the outcome of the job application. "And?"

Finally, there was Duck's smile, and Jethro felt a little lighter. "And you are looking at the new ME." And Jethro couldn't hold back the beaming grin, pulling Ducky into a light hug. He couldn't help but notice when Ducky didn't return the hug. He pulled back and gave the older man a confused look, "What's wrong Duck?" When Ducky did finally look up at him, the soft blue gaze was cold and made his heart flinch in pain. "You know Jethro, when you promise to write someone and then don't, it hurts. I thought you had forgotten me." The words cut him to the core, and he had to fight down the immediate urge to rush to his desk, yank open the bottom drawer, and shove the notebooks full of love letters at Duck. Instead, he said "I…I'm sorry Duck. I just never had the time, I reckon."

Ducky finally just pulled away, and Jethro caught hold of the young doctor's shoulder, trying to get the blond to look at him, but Duck wouldn't. Feeling like a royal ass, he did the only thing he could think of. "Lunch Duck? My treat." He knew it was a cheap shot, but he needed to talk to Ducky, and he knew the blond wouldn't be able to resist the pull of a good meal. When he heard Duck sigh, Jethro knew he had him. Ducky glanced over his shoulder at him, and it made him smile hopefully. "Please let me make it up to you Duck."

He could feel the exact moment Ducky relented, saw it in those beautiful eyes. "All right Jethro, but this is the last time I will so easily forgive you." He grinned and squeezed Ducky's shoulder before pulling away. "You wanna go now? Or wait a bit?" He watched Ducky glance at that fine silver Rolex, yet another testament to his wealth. "I have to go and have my credentials made, which should take no longer than fifteen minutes, putting us as at eleven hundred. Thus allowing us to leave a little past 11:00; giving in time for traffic, we should be able to be near all restaurants within twenty minutes, putting the time at 11:20. That is, if you are willing to accompany me to having my picture taken?"

The shock at the tumbled words and logic finally left him, allowing him to answer. "Course Duck. Never worked with a genius before…you're just full of surprises." The little flush on Ducky's face was beautiful, bashful. "Thank you Jethro…shall we go?" He smiled and pulled Ducky along behind him toward the elevators.

Once downstairs in the personnel office, he watched as Ducky brushed his soft looking hair to the side, adjusted his glasses, then smiled. Jethro smiled too, glad that he had somehow managed to have Duck back in his life. He waited back by the door, patient for Duck to be done with the process.

When Ducky stepped back toward him, he smiled and led the way. As soon as the doors closed, his hand was immediately pressing against the small of Ducky's back, just lingering. He had missed touching the other. He directed the young doctor to his car, opened his door, and shut it firmly before sprinting to the other side. He climbed in, took a deep breath, and started the car.

The car was silent as he drove through the city. He braked at a red light and turned to look at Ducky. "Look Duck… I didn't forget you. I just never had the time to write, or I woulda. I promise. I never woulda hurt you." He couldn't bring himself to tell Duck that he had filled three composition notebooks with love letters he'd been too nervous to send, or that he was currently working on a fourth one. He reached out and touched Ducky's arm, "You know that." Finally, Duck looked at him and placed his hand on top of Jethro's, smiling softly. His heart did a little flutter in his chest. "The light is green." At just that time, a car honked loudly behind them, and he dropped his down on the gas pedal. "And, yes Jethro, I know." Jethro turned his head slightly and smiled at Ducky, before making a last minute decision to stop at a small bistro off the main road.

Once he parked, Jethro slowly got out of the car and walked around to Duck's side. He tugged the door open and carefully helped Ducky out of the car, before closing the door and locking it. Once again, his hand found the small of Duck's back, his fingers quivering just barely. He had missed touching Duck, the expensive feel of his clothes, the warmth that seeped through the fabric; in fact, he had just missed Duck. He would take any chance presented to touch the young doctor.

Inside, the bistro smelled like fresh bread, the air warm. Ducky stopped, and Jethro found himself pressing lightly into his back. A wave of heat rolled through his stomach, his heart fluttering in his chest erratically. He bent his lips close to Ducky's ear, "C'mon Duck, let's go sit down." About that time, the hostess stepped up to them, smiling at the two of them, and Jethro smiled back. "Two," she asked, and he nodded in the affirmative, and she led them to a cozy booth in a back corner. He ushered Duck into one of the booth, before sitting across from him.

At about that time, their waiter came up to their table. "What can I get you guys to drink?" Before he could order for Duck, he jumped in. "Yes, I would like un-sweet tea, please." He stared at Duck, and eyebrow raised, he didn't even turn his attention to the waiter when asked about his drink. "Coffee," he replied after a hard sigh. Then the waiter was gone, and he was staring at Duck, memorizing his face.

"You look good Duck. Younger, more alive." Ducky just shrugged, before asking Jethro about his time at sea. He furrowed his brow, but answered anyway. "It was…good. I met someone; we've been dating for a year now." Saying the words aloud somehow made him feel…dirty. While he liked Diane, he felt like he was betraying Ducky by dating the woman. After a second, the Ducky gave him a strained smile, and his gut clenched hard. "Well now, I am very happy for you." That hurt, slightly bitter tone felt like a kick to the heart. The waiter chose that moment to bring their drinks, and Jethro looked down, feeling slightly ashamed. "Do you know what you'd like to order," was asked to the table, and he looked up quickly.

Before Duck could open his mouth, Jethro was ordering for them. "We'd like a large supreme pizza, no green peppers, one of the big table salads and an order of cheese bread-sticks." The waiter wrote it down, then gave him a questioning look. "Would you like to try some of our wine, sir?" Shaking his head, Jethro replied "Nope, working." The waiter nodded, "Okay. Well, I'll get this in for you, and the pizza should be out in about thirty minutes. The bread-sticks will be out in just a little while. Do you want the salad with the pizza?" Jethro nodded, and the young man rushed away.

Duck gave him a look, lips pursed angrily, "Why do you do that Jethro? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." He looked at the doctor, smiling lightly, "Maybe I'm trying to keep you safe Duck." The angry set of Duck's mouth melted into confusion on that lovely face" By ordering my food for me?" He felt the blush burn across his cheeks, but smiled anyway, taking the hint, "Okay, I get it. Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but Ducky gave him a soft smile, touching his hand. "It is quite all right Jethro. I assure you, I am quite used to it." He furrowed his brow, "Whatcha mean by that Duck?" But of course, at that moment the waiter placed their bread-sticks on the table, and Ducky's mouth was occupied.

Feeling thwarted, Jethro licked his bottom lip and glared at the lovely man across from him, which lasted only until Duck looked at him with an inquisitive gaze. "So Jethro, tell me her name." And he was speechless. He had hoped to move away from talking, or even thinking, about Joann. She was a nice girl, but really only a substitute for Ducky. Now that he had Duck back, he couldn't help but try to find a way out of the relationship. "Uh, well her name is Joann." Ducky nodded, "Are you going to marry her?" And that was the point he had wanted to avoid. He didn't want to marry Joann, but he couldn't just say that. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, "Well yeah, I reckon. And I was kinda hoping you'd be my best man before I asked Joann." He almost missed the look of shock, then hurt that fluttered across Duck's gaze, before becoming shuttered. "Of course I'll be your best man Jethro. I'd be honoured to."

Shock hit him hard in the chest. He had really hoped that Duck would say no; if he'd said no, then Jethro would have had an out. The waiter chose that moment to place their pizza and salad on the table, breaking the awkward silence. Slowly he began to dish out food, eating slowly, and while he was doing so, he watched Duck curiously. The young doctor was curiously lethargic as he ate, which was unusual as the last time he'd treated Duck, the man had cleaned up the food pretty well. "You okay Duck?"

Those blue eyes shifted upward briefly, before resuming staring at his pizza, while he nodded. "Oh yes Jethro, I am just trying to determine if I need a new tuxedo or if an older one will do." He seriously doubted that, and his heart wrenched hard in his chest; Jethro was pretty certain that Ducky was just upset at the idea of him getting married as he was, but he smiled weakly "I'm pretty sure that your old tux will be just as good as any new one I might buy, so you might as well just use an old one and save your money. Besides, I don't want you looking nicer than me on my wedding day, do I?" He could already imagine the young doctor in a tuxedo, looking extremely dashing, and wondered how in the world he would ever be able to marry Joann with Ducky right there.

Finally, he abandoned his pizza slice finally, even as Duck seemed to force himself to reach for another slice. He watched the methodical, listless motions as Ducky finished his second slice and then stared at him, and finally he weakly smiled. "You're ready to go back to the office building." When Ducky nodded, Jethro felt sick. He had ruined the ease that the doctor had felt with him, ruined the easy going friendship. He fished a fifty out of his wallet, got to his feet and left, Ducky right on his heels.

The ride back to the office was silent, awkward as Ducky seemingly ignored him. Jethro could feel his heart clenching in his chest, the unsettled roll of his gut. This was wrong. Finally, he threw the car into park and looked at Ducky, searched those soft blue eyes, before looking away "Look, Duck. I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable. Don't feel like you have to be my best man just because you're my best friend." He was giving them both yet another chance to opt out. But then Ducky's fingers touched the back of his hand, making him look up, making him want to kiss the older man. "Jethro. Never think that I do something simply because we are friends…though I must admit that I am surprised you consider me to be your best friend." It was the final nail in the coffin; the wedding would be happening now. Duck hadn't backed away.

And once Duck's words sunk in, Jethro felt the hurt look scroll across his face, and Ducky was suddenly tripping over himself to fix what had been done. "I simply mean that I figured a fellow Marine would be your best friend. You know, Simper Fi and all that." Jethro wanted to grasp the man to him, but instead he laughed, easing the desire to cradle Ducky against his chest and settled for gripping his shoulders. "Duck, you _have_ been there for me through thick and thin. You affect so much of what I do that I can't even begin to explain it. I want you to be my best man because you are one of the most important people in my life."

That soft smile nearly broke his heart, and then he was hearing a goodbye. "I guess I shall be seeing you about work. But I should probably go, my dear Jethro, before Mother begins to worry." He watched Ducky get out and walk across the parking lot. And after a while, he watched him drive away too. But he couldn't move. He felt frozen. He was going to be getting married to a replacement, all because he hadn't the heart to bear his feelings to Ducky. All because he needed to save face. Heaving a heavy sigh, Jethro rubbed his palms over his face before turning the key in the ignition and driving away.

**2005**

Nervousness racked him, and he knew it would continue to do so until the sick bastards who were cutting up bodies and sticking those pieces in metal drums were caught. So far the bodies found were those of people who had worked a single case with Ducky. The whole thing had his gut tied up in knots. Everything in him demanded that he catch Hanlan before Ducky was brought into it more than he already was. From the pit of his gut radiating outward was the overwhelming desire, _need_ to protect his Duck. Nothing could happen to him. Nothing.

He ran himself ragged. He forgot to eat, to sleep, and ran off coffee and freezing showers. Jethro tried his damnedest to keep Duck from noticing his lack of sleep, so he tried to keep up appearances. He couldn't help himself though. Every chance he got, his hand was reaching out to briefly touch Ducky, or he stood close enough to the older man to smell his clean scent. If Ducky noticed it, he didn't say a single word and just accepted Jethro's actions.

As he sat at his desk, he dropped his head in his hands and wished he could split himself in two. He needed one half to watch Ducky, and one half to bring this sick asshole to justice. He ran his hands roughly over his face before sighing. He had to admit that he felt a little better knowing that Kate was watching Duck. Sure, the government would think that the President was more important, but to him Ducky was the most important member of his team. If Kate had been good enough to watch the President, then she was almost good enough to watch Duck.

He tried to put it out of his mind and get down to the important job of catching the deranged person singling out the people on the single case.

That was, of course, when Kate called, and Ducky was gone. He felt sickness rise in his chest and throat. His mind raced hard over all his mistakes. He knew that if he had been with Ducky instead of Kate that he would've been all over Ducky, following the older man wherever the other went. He knew he would have been diligent to the point of over-protectiveness.

The feeling of desperation dug in deep, curling sickly around his heart. For a moment, he felt like he had in 1991, when he'd been informed of Kelly and Shannon's deaths, on the edge of falling into desolation. This time, the one person who could bring him back from the brink was the one missing.

Snatching his cell phone off his phone, he dialed DiNozzo's. Before the agent had any time to say "Hey Boss," he was snarling into the mouthpiece, telling Tony to get McGee and meet him back at the office, that Ducky had been taken. Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingers tightly to his eyes and tried to keep it together. He needed all of himself to find Duck, to keep Duck from being yet another body in a steel drum. "Fuck," he swore loudly and threw his phone hard across the squad room. He leapt to his feet and paced, running his fingers repeatedly through his hair.

Thirty minutes later, he was back at his desk, thinking about the sound of Ducky's laugh, his chin in one hand. "Gibbs…I'm sorry." He didn't even look at Kate, couldn't bring himself to. If he lost Duck, he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive her. "It's my fault. Two agents. Two protectees. I should have had two agents. You were as responsible for the mother as you were for Ducky." That was when DiNozzo rushed into the bullpen, yelling some nonsense about vans. When McGee mentioned that both Hanlan's mother and brother owned a van, it connected in his brain. "That's good enough for a search authorization." He was in the desk drawer in a rush, his fingers brushing the latest notebook full of letters while he grabbed his weapon.

Within moments, whether or not the others were with him, Jethro was striding across the floor, not even bothering with the elevator. He took the stairs two at a time, rushing for the front doors. He barely heard the door behind him slam then bound back open, the quick patter of his team behind him.

He was already in the car, jerking the key in the ignition roughly as the others joined him in the car. He threw the car in reverse and felt the gearshift groan in his grip as he shoved it forward. His foot smashed down on the accelerator. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see McGee gripping the "oh shit" bar while struggling with his seatbelt. He hadn't even bothered with his.

But it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to the funeral home. Finding Duck. Bringing him home. In his chest, Jethro felt his heart constrict tightly.

In a matter of minutes he was across town, screeching to a halt in front of the funeral home, jerking out of the car, striding to the door, bullying Mrs. Hanlan. He didn't have time for her shit. Not this time.

There was a low growl caught in his throat as he prowled through the funeral home, directing the search. He wanted to tear the whole place apart, instead he eluded a easy confidence. He _would_ find Ducky. There was no _if_. And if he was too late, he'd burn the fucking building down. The thought made him smile, until he came to a locked door. Turning a sharp glare on Hanlan, he ordered her to open the door. She gave him shit, and he felt something dislodge from his heart and fill him with anger. "I have the right to break down that door…and anything in my way." And he would have. He would have torn her limb from limb, and she must have seen that in his eyes.

She opened the door, and he forced McGee to conduct a thorough search while he prowled the room, waiting for some feeling that Duck was near.

When Tony called with no news, he told him to bring the brother in. Turning his back on the mother, he ended the call and the search. Jethro knew he'd get nowhere with the mother, but he knew the brother was weak. He'd tear him apart, break him down. He _would_ find his Ducky. With a low growl, he stalked from the room, forcing McGee to nearly run to keep up.

The drive back to headquarters was quicker, faster, more hectic. He needed to get at Jonathan Hanlan. He needed to pick the man over, find out everything. End this before it got too out of hand. He breezed through a red light, briefly fluttering the lights on the car, before dodging traffic like a pro. Ducky being missing had him off balance, driving more erratically than normal.

When they got back to headquarters, DiNozzo let him know that Hanlan was already in the interrogation room. With a sense of purpose, he moved quickly through the building, pressing into the room. Hanlan looked up at him, nervous behind those glasses. Taking a deep breath, he prowled the room and grilled the small man, listening to him tell the same thing over and over. Finally, he leaned in close, his mouth near Hanlan's ear. "If my friend dies, I'll blame you too."

He stomped from the interrogation room and listened to Abby give her spiel. It slowly sunk in, as he stared at the blackened skull, that Vincent Hanlan was still alive. Still out there…with Ducky. Grabbing the head and jar of teeth, Jethro left the small group and stormed back into the interrogation room. Hanlan jumped when he slammed the black skull down in front of him, throwing the teeth to bounce and skid across the table toward him.

As Hanlan came clean, the rage filled in him slowly. He ground his teeth together and slammed his phone down on the table, drawling closer to the scrawny man with a dangerous look. "You call your mother, Jonathan. You tell her we released you. You tell her that everything is okay now, that we've run into a dead end. You convince her, Jonathan. If you don't…I will tear every tooth outta your skull!" He threw a tooth at Jonathan and left the room.

And of course, everything went according to plan, and they were now waiting. And he was getting so sick of waiting. Even as DiNozzo itched to bust into the funeral home, and most of him cheered the thought, he waited. He forced them all to wait. He watched the lights come on in the building, counting his breaths, and mentally saying a prayer. His fingers tightened around the gun's butt reflexively. A final light clicked on, his gut twisted almost painfully, and he gave the go.

After that, everything seemed to blur. Jethro could hear his heart beating hard in his chest, feel the blood rushing in his ears as the approached the building, bursting through the front doors, overtaking Mr. Hanlan. But he couldn't be bothered to stop. He kicked open the door and words were bursting from his lips, and he was trying so damn hard not to look at Duck, _his Ducky_, strapped to a gurney with a needle in his neck.

It seemed so slow as DiNozzo moved toward Ducky. He would have been there in seconds, but he didn't trust anyone with Hanlan except himself.

Still, Jethro heard the tape tear free from those soft lips, the shaky voice begging Tony to undo his hands, the demand for something to stop the bleeding. Then Hanlan was slitting his throat, his mother was in hysterics, and he really couldn't be bothered to give a fuck. He crossed the room in seconds, his hands itching to hold Ducky. His fingers pressed between Ducky's, holding the cloth to the wound, holding his hand.

Jethro felt the adrenalin fade as Ducky leant back against him. He felt his heart slow its hard beat with every inhale and exhale from the doctor. He pressed as close to Duck as he could, leaning his cheek against that soft, heavy hair. When Ducky quietly asked him what kept him, his heart trilled, made him smile. His fingers gently came up, brushing that soft hair, before settling on Duck's shoulder.

But then the paramedics were pulling Ducky from him. He tried to go with him, climb up in the back to keep a close eye on his love, but the idea was rejected. So he did the next best thing. Leaving his team at the scene, without any real regard for them, he drove as fast as the car and traffic would allow to the hospital. Everything in him demanded that he be near Duck, watch over him, protect him. Jethro swore wouldn't let him down again.

And so he did. He took up the only chair in Ducky's room when the nurses finally wheeled him in. He looked so small and pale in the hospital bed, his heavy hair tousled and his glasses missing. Then, and only then, when he was absolutely certain that Duck was safe, did he allow himself to think of how close he had come to losing the most precious person in his life. A soft sob caught in his throat as he pressed his face against the white blanket, his hand gripping hard at Ducky's strong hand. He pressed his lips against the soft back of Ducky's hand, letting his lips form the words he knew he felt. "I love you Duck." Finally, for the first time in a couple of days, he allowed himself to fall asleep, still clutching Ducky's hand tightly.

The soft sigh brought him back from the light sleep as Ducky shifted. Jethro straightened abruptly, keeping a tight grip on that hand. "What's wrong Ducky? You okay?" He felt calmed when Ducky smiled at him, felt his heart skip a beat when the doctor patted his hand. "Ah nothing my dear Jethro. I am perfectly fine, just wished to sit up is all." Relief washed through him yet again.

He pulled the chair even closer to the bed, though there really wasn't that much room. He glanced at Ducky's face, taking in the tired look there. "Are you sure you're okay Duck? Anything you need? Want?" Ducky just smiled at him, those soft lips quirking upward. "No dear Jethro," Ducky said while patting his hand, "I am quite alright, I assure you." He watched Ducky shift into a sitting position and sigh. He couldn't keep his gaze off of the doctor.

Outside, he could hear bickering voices that rose as they approached Duck's room. He stood, letting go of Duck's hand. While the older man was recovering he wouldn't let anything or anyone disturb him. Just as he went to take that first step, the door swung open and a tall, dark-haired man stepped into Duck's room. His gut clenched painfully, and he knew the man was nothing but bad news as he shut the door in the nurse's face.

The man gave Jethro a scornful look while stepping closer to Ducky's bed. Instantly, irritation rose in his chest hard. When the stranger placed a hand on Duck's, the irritation became anger. "Ah Illya, it has been quite some time," the man said, and confusion rocked him. His gut clenched again. He wasn't blind. He could see the way that Ducky was trying so hard to not be obvious with the man, and the way the man was staring at him…they knew each other. And the thought hurt. It hurt him deeply, and he couldn't understand why. He couldn't offer any help, even when Ducky shot him a pleading look, whispering "Sir, you must have me confused."

Laughing, the man tilted closer to Ducky, "I would not forget my Illya," while sitting on the bed. His gut and heart demanded he step in, but his mind was reeling. "When I saw you had been kidnapped my heart wrenched, and I came to Virginia to look for you." Then he noticed the glossy sheen in Ducky's eyes, and he felt anger roil in his gut. Ducky looked so lost, so scared, and the man was unrelenting in his pursuit to show they knew each other, to rub it in.

The moment the man's anger came to the surface, his mind snapped back into its place. He had almost _just_ lost Ducky; he wasn't about to let some asshole come in and bully him. As the man gripped Duck's jaw, growling about the past, he grabbed hold of the man's arm and jerked him away. "I think you should leave." He gave the older man a stern look, his features set. If he needed to, he'd hurt this man. The man jerked free, and Jethro thought he was going to leave.

Instead, the man jabbed him in the chest. . "You may think you have him, but you don't even know him. Illya, Ducky, whatever you call him…he's mine." He could feel the rage boiling in his gut, his eyes narrowed as his jaw tensed. "If he's yours, then why is he here, with me? Where were you when he was hurt? When his mother was sick? When he was taken? To you, _Duck_," Jethro stressed his name, "is nothing but a possession." The man laughed harshly, getting in his face with a snarl. "Then what is he to you? Just a little fuck toy?"

The words made him hate the man. His fingers curled into fists as he glared into those dark, scornful eyes. He snarled out "You asshole" before punching the man squarely in the face. His hand was throbbing hard as the man crumpled to the floor, blood pulsing between the fingers gripping the man's nose. He placed himself between Ducky and the man, as the stranger slowly got to his feet, glowering at them both. "You, Illya Kuryakin, are a disgrace to the UNCLE and KGB organizations, and a pathetic excuse for a man." But Jethro wouldn't be cowed, and he took a step toward the man, running him from the room.

But now, alone with Ducky, the new, uncertain information hung heavy over them. "Jethro…" whispered that soft voice, but he couldn't turn around to look at Duck. Instead, he said "I'm gonna go tell the nurses to release you. Then I'm gonna take you home and put you to bed. Let me tell you right now, I'm staying at Reston. I should've been at Reston to begin with. Then maybe none of this would have happened." He left the room, feeling so heavy. He trudged to the nurses' station and got the go ahead for Ducky to be released.

He stood outside Duck's room for a long moment, uncertain of where they stood now. Finally, he pushed open the door and began to get Ducky ready to leave. He had already had Kate make arrangements for Mrs. Mallard and the Corgis, not wanting Ducky to have to deal with his sick, elderly mother while he was recovering. Jethro helped Ducky out to his car and drove carefully to the Reston house. All the while, his mind was mulling over the new information and wondering who that man had been. He used his own key to let them into the house.

As he helped Ducky up the stairs and into his bedroom, he couldn't help but notice how at ease he felt. With barely trembling fingers he helped Ducky strip down and get ready for bed, tucking the older man into bed he resisted the urge to kiss that smooth forehead covered by heavy hair. Instead, he turned out the light and shut the door behind him. He lingered outside the door, breathing deeply before moving down the hall to the spare bedroom.

Looking around the nice room, he tried to remember how many times he had spent the night here after a long evening of good scotch and even better company after a long day at work. He kept the door open, still feeling a little paranoid as he couldn't see Duck anytime he felt a little anxious he kicked his shoes off. Lying down on the perfectly made bed, still dressed, and tucked his hands behinds his head. Finally, he turned himself over to his thoughts.

It wasn't that long before he heard the soft allure of classical music down the hall. Getting to his feet, he leant against the doorframe and looked down the hall. Slowly, Jethro walked down the hallway toward that soft music and light.

Inside, Ducky was sitting on a couch, drinking vodka straight from the bottle. He could see fat tears slip free from those beautiful blue eyes, and he felt pain grip so sharply at his heart that he lost his breath. He wanted to rush into the room and gather the older man into his arms, kiss those tears away. Instead, he slowly walked in and gently tugged the bottle free from Ducky's hand. Those beautiful eyes looked up at him, shimmering with tears, and then Duck's hand was gripping his, tugging him closer, and it hurt him to see his love like this.

"Oh dear Jethro…words do not even begin to express…I am eternally sorry for having dragged you into this; never once when I ran from my past did I imagine that my past might run after me." The words were soft, waterlogged as Ducky pulled him down to sit next to him on the couch. Jethro stared deeply into those eyes, letting Ducky take his other hand as well. Sitting on that couch, in the middle of the night, with Ducky smelling like vodka and tears, the words spilled out of those soft, kissable lips.

"I was, once upon a time, Illya Kuryakin. But I am not him anymore. I am Donald "Ducky" Mallard. I am still the man you know, whom you've always known. I may harbour pieces of Illya, and I always will, but I am Ducky. I am still the young man you met those long, 14 years ago. I am still the man who comforted you after the deaths of Shannon and Kelly. I am still the man who stood beside you, who was your best man for three weddings. I am still the man who loves you as a best friend… I am still the man who fell in love with you long ago, who waited for your letters and felt rejected when none came." His heart stopped, and he felt a fine tremor take up in his hands. His heart clenched and twisted painfully in his chest, and he wanted to crush Duck to him, kiss him, tell him how he felt. The tears stopped him, the last bit being whispered so softly: "I am still, and will always be, your Duck, Jethro."

He was shocked into silence. What could he say? Here was the man he loved, proclaiming to share that love, sharing his life's secrets with Jethro…everything he could think of to say seemed so inadequate. Suddenly, "I love you" didn't seem like enough anymore. "Jethro," Duck called to him, that voice soft and demure. He looked at the doctor, his Duck, and couldn't find any words. His heartbeat was heavy, loud in his ears as he got to his feet and slowly walked out of the room. He decided that only one thing would truly suffice. He went back to his room and sat on the bed, quietly waiting for Duck to return to his bedroom. A few moments after he left, he heard the soft click as Ducky's bedroom door shut, and he got up.

On quiet feet, he moved silently through the dark house, out the front door, locking it securely behind him, and got into his car. The engine came to life with a quiet purr, and he could only hope that Ducky didn't hear. Once again, disregarding any street laws, he drove through the quiet city, back to NCIS headquarters. Parking right in front of the building, he convinced the curious security guard to let him in, and made his way up to the second floor and his desk.

Sitting down heavily in his chair and turning on the table lamp, he unlocked the bottom drawer, and pulled out the four black and white speckled composition notebooks. He ran his fingers over the mottled covers; he'd never gone back through and read the letters, knowing if he did he'd be too afraid to ever give Duck the books. Instead, he opened the final book to its last empty page. He touched the blank lines with careful fingers before reaching for a pen.

_Duck,_

_The last few weeks have been brutal on me. The thought of losing you has had me gripped in a death grip, and it nearly broke me. I wanted to spend every moment with you, but at the same time I wanted to do everything I could to keep you safe. Funny how that works out, because it didn't work that way._

_Because I nearly lost you._

He stopped, breathed deep, and blinked slow. Just remembering Kate's phone call made his heart clench and reel in his chest. It demanded he return to Reston house and watch over Ducky.

_And just writing that sentence nearly kills me. If something would have happened to you, I don't know what I would have done. You save me from myself. You're all I have left. Ever since that hospital in Frankfurt, I've been falling in love with you. Any woman since I left was a replacement._

_It was so hard getting married with you at my side, to watch that heart-wrenching pain in your pretty eyes. If only you would have said no. You've been faithful to me, even though you're not mine. But this case…has opened my eyes. _

_Without you, I'm lost. I'm nothing. I need you Duck. _

_You're the most important person in my life._

_You had the strength to tell me to my face that you love me. I can't…I'm not strong enough. Those words scare me, but I'll show you. God, I hope you let me show you. I'll take care of you, Duck, follow you anywhere, keep you safe, love you like you deserve. _

_I love you Ducky. Always._

He dotted the last period and shut the book, gathering the notebooks up into his arms, and left the quiet building. The drive back was filled with silence, his secrets hanging heavy in his mind. He knew that Duck wouldn't reject him, but he couldn't help but feel not yet ready to hand over those words.

Quietly, he parked in front of the garage again and made his way into the silent house. He started toward his bedroom, notebooks clutched under his arm, but changed direction at the last second. Carefully, he eased Ducky's bedroom door open. He could barely hear the soft breathing, barely see the light rise and fall of Duck's chest, so he lingered in the doorway. He knew if he moved closer, he wouldn't leave, so he forced himself to take a step back, and eased the door shut behind him.

In his room, he sat on his bed, and watched the sky outside his window. His door wasn't pushed all the way shut, just in case someone else tried to come in. He held the Sig cradled in his lap, feeling restless as he watched the sky barely begin to lighten.

It seemed that the exact moment he started to nod off, Ducky's alarm clock was going off in the other room. Unable to face his oldest, dearest friend, he sat on his bed. He listened to Ducky move around in his room, the soft gasp of air as his door was tugged open. He was barely at his door when he could hear the soft click of the front door was closed. Anxiety tore at him, and he was out of his room in seconds, just in time to see Ducky jogging down the road easily. A part of him wanted to run after Duck, but he forced himself to relax. He couldn't spend his entire life glued to Duck's side, well rationally anyway. And it was really unlikely that Ducky would let him anyway.

A while later, he hear Duck on the stairs, then outside his door. His heart skipped a beat, but he heard a door creak lightly open. Curiosity piqued, Jethro got to his feet and quietly opened his door. He eyed the door across from his, wondering if he should investigate or not. Finally, he gave in and walked the small distance to the other room. Lightly, he pushed the door open, and found himself staring at the bare back of Ducky. Sharp lines of black ink crossed and roamed his back, forming a large wolf prowling, catching Jethro off guard, as he watched the doctor approach the punching bag. Smiling lightly, he imagined this was what Ducky looked like as a young man, a spry agent more than prepared for a fight.

The door creaked just a little as he pushed on it a little more, and Ducky stopped, his head turning, and Jethro barely had time to close the door just enough to make it look closed before that inquisitive gaze fell in his direction. After a heartbeat, he pushed the door open just enough to look at Duck again. The doctor had made his way into the middle of the mat, and Jethro let his eyes roam the softening body as Ducky stretched and arced, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Ducky really was beautiful. Smiling Jethro shut the door, unwilling to watch anymore lest he be caught in an awkward situation.

He had barely closed his door when he heard the door opposite his click shut and be locked. Jethro leant back against the door, breathing deeply. He heard Ducky close the door to his bedroom and dropped down heavily on his bed. He tried to block out the sight of shirtless Ducky from his thoughts, but it kept crawling back. He wondered about that tattoo, the few smooth scars he'd seen; wanted to touch the muscles he had seen playing under that undeniably soft-looking skin. Burying his face in his pillow, he groaned.

Unaware of how long he laid there, eyes closed tight and mind trying to pressure his body back into a non-aroused state, he lifted his head the moment he heard movement in the kitchen. Silently, he tugged his door open and moved into the bathroom, rubbing cold water over his face. He opened the vanity cabinet and retrieved his bathroom essentials, a little kit for when he unexpectedly stayed the night. Chuckling to himself, he couldn't help but think that the sleepovers would be taking a nice turn, well if he had anything to say about it.

Quickly, he shaved and brushed his teeth, before stripping his shirt off. He shook it rigorously to try to get rid of the wrinkles before pulling it back on. He reapplied deodorant, and leant in toward the mirror. Silently, he scrutinized his face, lifting his jaw and checking for any rough spots. Finding himself acceptable, he quickly used the bathroom and washed up before heading downstairs. When he strode into the kitchen, Ducky was nowhere to be found. Slowly, he prowled through the quiet house, until he spotted that soft head of hair barely visible over a large chair's back.

Jethro slipped into the room and snuck up behind Ducky. The doctor was so enthralled with whatever he was looking at that he didn't even notice. When he drew close enough, he could see why. The book on Duck's lap was huge and old looking. He watched as the older man ran gentle fingers down the black and white photograph of a large man with a small child balanced on his knee. Instantly, he knew he was looking at a tiny Duck and his father. The child was scrawny, but looked happy, and the father was looking down on the kid with his face shining of love.

Leaning down, he breathed over Ducky's ear, "Whatcha got there Duck?" He watched Duck run a hand over his mouth, heard the hitch of his breath, heard the sadness in his voice, "My father." Jethro gave him a look as he went and sat down on the leather sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "My real father. In 1957, on the 13th of September, I was born Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin. My father, Peter, was a gypsy in Russia during the second rise of communism. I was the youngest boy in our family, born sixth out of seven children." Ducky's fingers traced the picture again. "Our family was poverty stricken, which was even worse considering Russia's economy at the time."

A page flip, followed by another sad statement. "My mother, Ana, never loved me. She stopped loving the boys after her second." He patted the sofa seat next to him, giving Ducky a soft look, "Come show me those pictures Duck." Slowly, Ducky came and sat by him. He could smell the soft clean scent, like cloves and sage, and it made him think of that first day in Frankfurt, how taken aback he'd been by Duck's beauty. One day, he swore, he'd tell Duck how struck he'd been by him. But not just then. He wanted to learn about Ducky, the real Ducky.

He looked at the photo of a thin woman, with long white-blonde hair twisted into a braid on top of her head. Her dark eyes pierced his heart from the picture's faded surface. "My mother did not like my father being a gypsy, and she did not approve of his ideas. My father taught us children to not trust on the government. He told us often that the communist act was not going to last. That Marx's idea of an ideal world through communism was just that, idealism that the world was incapable of producing. He told us over and over that the government was incapable of taking care of us, and he would beckon toward our empty ice box and point at our hungry bellies as proof."

Yellowing pages were flipped until a picture of seven children came into sight. Ducky pointed to each child, naming them, "Peter was the oldest. Then Viktor, Naomi, Kirsten, Nik, myself, and Hana. This is the only picture of all of us together. My father's death tore us apart." In his chest, his heart curled. His Duck had known such pain. The book closed with a soft thump, and Ducky laced his fingers on top of it, leant his head back and closed his eyes.

"My father, the only one in that family to love me, was killed when I was fourteen. One night, the KGB broke down our door and dragged my father outside. They beat him to death because someone had talked about my father's dislike of the communist ideal. Then the officers dragged my siblings and me out onto the snow-covered lawn and made an example of our dead father. I still remember him laying there, his face swollen and purple, his smiling lips curled in a grimace and split. His ragged clothes torn and his limbs twisted in unnatural ways." The emotion was thick in Ducky's voice; even as he covered his mouth was a quivering hand. "Then they took Peter, who was 19, Viktor who was 18, and Nik who was 16 away. We never saw them again. I was the only boy left, and my mother hated me the most. My father always told me that she hated me simply because he loved me more than any of his other children and because I was independent."

He was unable to take his eyes off of Duck, unable to tear his gaze away from the utter pain that sharpened the soft features. Jethro's gut clenched. There was more.

"My mother became irate at me a few months after my father was murdered, and she sent me to St. Petersburg to make money to help support the family by…by selling my body for a small price. She always told me I was too pretty to be a boy; that I should have been born a girl instead. I was just another prostitute in that dirty city, jumping at any money just to keep myself alive. I was beaten, abused, and raped. I went hungry for days and often my skin was blue. A little while after I turned 15, I met Nichols Neichov, one of the few remaining rich people in Russia. He took me off the streets and tutored me himself in many different subjects. I learned five languages from him: English, French, German, Italian, and Latin. He taught me anatomy, history, English and composition, algebra, calculus, geography and chemistry for the next year, and when I turned 17, he enlisted me in Edinburgh. I graduated when I was 19, and I returned to work for Mr. Neichov, who was a doctor. Instead, the KGB got me at the airport and forced me to become an agent for them. I was enlisted with my best friend, Ian Trebsky." When Ducky rubbed at his eyes and looked at him, Jethro carefully guarded his gaze; he didn't want his friend to see his heart breaking for him.

"The next year, the KGB sent me to New York as a liaison agent with the UNCLE organization. Within a few months, Napoleon Solo, the man from the hospital, became my partner. A little after my first year at UNCLE, Napoleon began coming on to me, which then led to a relationship. He was impulsive and reckless, especially when I was involved. There were a few affairs, or missions, that actually put my life on the line. Napoleon liked to have me waiting for him, so he would wait until the last minute to sweep in and save me. That is how I got the scar on my leg, because Napoleon waited too long and let me be tortured and assaulted for six days before he showed up. He cheated on me all the time and I finally got tired of it. But every time I tried to leave, something would happen. Napoleon did not like to lose, and he was losing me. So, he would find a way to place me in Medical, and it would push back my leaving, until I finally tendered my resignation with Mr. Waverly, the organization's supervisor. And here I am. You've known me from that point on."

Duck looked down and managed to stammer out "Jethro…I did not want to tell anyone about my past—including you. I wanted a chance to start over new, to start out with money and someone loving me. I was trying to forget about all the bad things in my previous life. And, I did not want you to leave me, but it seems as if I have messed this life up too." The small, self-depreciating smile, final statement made Jethro's insides wretch. When that wounded gaze fluttered to the couch, he couldn't stop it anymore. He couldn't bear to see his love in pain. "Duck…" he started, but stopped when those tear-stained eyes lifted to his. He acted on instinct. Jethro's hand came up, cupping Ducky's soft face as his lips crushed against Duck's, he was pressing the older man back into the couch, covering his body with his own. The feeling was incredible, and his thoughts were swimming in a murky, lust-filled haze. Jethro put everything he had in not rubbing himself against Ducky like a clumsy teenager, but when he felt the soft, tentative slide of Ducky's tongue against his, he lost it, crushing his hips down into Duck's.

The moan was all the encouragement he needed, but Ducky pressed back against him, making his heart pound. His hand threaded through that heavy hair as he tried to just hold on, even as Ducky's arms slipped around his neck, as the doctor pulled himself closer. He had to stop. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to. Finally, he tore his mouth away, felt Ducky moistly panting against his lips, could see the smudges on his glasses, and mentally growled. Ducky was perfectly flushed, and Jethro knew if the good doctor looked like this after a good kiss, then he was royally fucked. Or rather, Ducky would be. "Duck, you couldn't make me leave if you tried. Wanna go somewhere more comfortable?"

When Ducky nodded, he slipped away, even though he was loathe to do so. He kept staring at Ducky, racking his gaze down that form. God, the man was beautiful. As Ducky stood, he couldn't keep his hands to himself, reaching out for Duck's hand. They wound their way back through the Reston house in silence, and he noticed the death grip Ducky had on the railing. He tightened his grip on Ducky's hand. Sure, he might have been putting the horse before the cart, so to speak, but it wasn't like this was a one night deal. Already, he was mentally deciding what could be sold or left at his house when he made the move to Reston. Too much time had been wasted pretending that he didn't love Ducky, didn't need him.

The second Duck let go of his hand, he came back from his mental musings. He watched Ducky stroll across toward his bed, his shirt coming up, baring that enticing tattoo. Jethro was across the floor before the shirt even touched the ground, turning Duck as his fingers combed into Ducky's soft hair, his lips slanting for yet another heart-stopping kiss. Duck's fingers found his shirt, tugging him closer, until they toppled backward onto the perfectly made bed. He worried for a second he had hurt Ducky, but then the older man was pressing closer, and it erased that thought from his mind. Finally, he had to pull back for fear of blacking out. The second their lips separated, he was panting hard, trying to catch his breath, which was harder than it should have been. He attributed that to the fact he had Ducky, finally, under him.

"Wow," he breathed, once again struck by how beautiful Ducky was, and he could see the love the doctor had for him clearly in those soft blue eyes, before that gaze slipped away. Jethro stroked his thumb across a soft cheek. "You really are beautiful, Duck. You know that, right?" He could see Ducky's jaw working, but no words came out, and he leant down again, running his mouth along Ducky's neck, feeling the strong pulse throb against his tongue. Jethro felt fingers gripping at his back as Duck squirmed under him, forced his shirt off his back, but he couldn't be hindered. The moment the fabric was no long blocking his sight, he was touching every inch of Ducky's smooth torso he could, making Duck squirm and pant under him. "You're so smooth," he finally said staring down at the older man with wonder. Ducky truly was beautiful.

He placed his palm over Ducky's heart, feeling the erratic beat and throb of the organ, and felt his own heart skip a beat. He had caused this passion in the somewhat reserved man, and that thought made him proud. "Okay Duck?" He couldn't help but be concerned that Ducky might pass out from all the excitement. Instead of an answer, Ducky just brushed his lips over Jethro's, stealing his breath. He kept his lips sealed to Ducky, the kiss slow and languid while heat burned through him. The feeling of Duck's fingers in his shoulders, pulling him down against him, his hips consequently crushing down against the doctor's, and then the older man's hips arced up against his. He dragged his palms down Duck's frame, catching at his hips, tugging the thick sweats down, and all he could see was skin, skin, and more skin. Slowly, the shock registered, and he lifted his smoldering gaze. "You…don't wear boxers?" His fingers skated along that hot skin, pulling Ducky's hips up. "I-I only wear boxers to work…" Ducky's sentence was bitten off by a breathless moan. Jethro chuckled softly, "Maybe I should stay over more often?" He smiled impishly, making eye contact with Ducky before rolling off the bed to struggle with his jeans. His fingers were trembling as he undid the button and zipper, before shoving the rough denim down his legs, fingers lingering at the waistband of his boxers before deciding to leave them on and going rejoining Duck on the bed.

When he glanced up, his eyes roamed down Ducky's frame, the doctor on his hands and knees, body already posed. The mattress gave gently under him as he crawled back on the bed, his hands roaming over that smooth back, his mouth pressing a gentle kiss against that ink. His tongue slipped out, tracing a sharp black line, forcing a soft gasp from Duck. He gripped Duck's hip and tugged at him gently, pressing him back into the mattress while nuzzling Ducky's neck. "I wanna look at you Duck." His lips pressed against Duck's, his fingers once against finding solace in that soft hair as his hips crashed down against Duck's. Ducky's head thrashed back, tearing the kiss apart, and soft, foreign words spilled from his lips. Jethro pulled back and stared down at Duck until that soft gaze opened, somewhat ashamed. "Uh. Sorry…I suppose is what I should say, yes?" Ducky said softly, and his brain started up again, recovering from its shock. "Duck," he brushed his lips against Duck's, silencing the older man, "were you talkin' dirty to me in Russian?" A blush skirted the doctor's cheeks, before he whispered "Perhaps," demurely. And he broke.

His lips crashed down on Duck's, felt the moan reverberate up from his chest. Jethro's hands curled in Duck's hair, holding him still as his hips ground down against his. And the boxers didn't do anything; he could feel everything, and he wanted more, and he rubbed and ground against the doctor's arousal. Under him, Ducky whimpered and writhed. Lifting up slowly, he kicked his boxers off and ground skin down against skin, his erection rubbing harshly against Duck's, and he drew in deep breath. Duck's head fell back, and a soft prayer in Russian fell from those soft lips. Poised above Ducky, he ran his hand down that soft body, his mouth melting against Duck's and cutting off the soft babble of Russian, as Jethro's hand curled around both their erections and began to move. Under him, Duck bowed, pressing up into his grip, driving up against him, and he had to squint his eyes shut. The look on Ducky's face was sinful. His hand was moving quickly around both of them, wringing little moans and gasps from Ducky's lips, and he watched that face, noticing the creasing of that smooth brow, the quiver of that soft mouth, the gentle blush across Duck's cheeks. And then Ducky was gripping hard at his arm, stilling, gasping, cumming hard between them. As Duck's head thrashed on the pillow, gripped in pleasure, Jethro brushed his lips across Duck's ear, barely whispering "I love you Duck. Always."

And then, just like that, everything stopped and Ducky was curling away from his arm, facing as far away from Jethro as he could. His body was trembling, back curving in an almost-fetal position. Those soft blue eyes squeezed together tightly, but the tears still fell. And he was lost. Kicking his boxers back up towards him, he slowly cleaned up their mess as Ducky tried to bury his face in the pillow. He dropped his boxers off the bedside and softly grasped the older man's jaw, stopping all movement, but that gaze wouldn't look at him. "Ducky?" Nothing. "Ducky…" still nothing. "Duck." And slowly those eyes opened, that soft mouth gasping in breaths as if to slow his racing heart, and those tears slipped down his temples. Jethro felt his heart break all over again, as the pain on his love's face eliminated all thought of arousal from his body. He brushed his thumb over that damp cheek, searching Duck's eyes for any clue as to what'd he done.

"What's wrong? I…did I do something?" Concern, hurt roiled in his chest as he watched Ducky try to turn away from him, as tears started anew and in full force, and still those soft blue eyes wouldn't look at him for a prolonged time, his watery gaze jumping around like he was scared. "You…you told me you loved me." He hadn't honestly thought that Ducky had heard, and the blush scorched at his cheeks, but he nodded, unwilling to back down. "And I meant it Duck." That soft, pained gaze finally connected with his, "I'm just waiting for you to leave…" And his heart broke all over again. He felt the soft prick of tears at the back of his eyes, the constriction of his throat, the ache in his heart, and frantically he shook his head, brushing his lips over Duck's tenderly to try and reassure the older man. "I'm not gonna leave." Slowly, Jethro slumped down on the mattress next to Ducky's frame, tugging the doctor to his chest. "I promise Duck. I'm not going anywhere, unless you're going too."

He slowly began to trace the sharp pattern on the doctor's back, and was grateful when Ducky finally sighed, relaxing into his touch. It felt right holding Duck, this close, able to feel his heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his chest, to smell his clean scent, to touch his soft skin. "Hey Duck," he started softly, waiting for a response while staring down at his beautiful doctor. "Hmm," Ducky said murmured, glancing at him briefly. "Tell me about this tattoo. I never thought you would have one…" Then Ducky was relaxing against his chest again, and he tightened his arms briefly around that supple form, which seemed made for his arms. "When I was at Edinburgh, I met my best friend Ian. I was 17; he was nearly 19. We were roommates and eventually, we became lovers. He was the one person I could tell everything to, and I thought I loved him. Before we were to return to St. Petersburg, he convinced me to go with him to get a tattoo. He got a bear, to show nationalism for Russia. And somehow, I wound up getting a wolf. Ian had always called me his pet; that was his term of endearment for me, so it kind of fit. Of course, after the KGB forced the both of us to enlist, we rarely saw each other and we began to drift apart. Then one day, the higher officers took Ian outside and shot him. I never figured out the reason why. I suppose I should have gotten the thing removed, but it reminded me of my youth, of careless by-gone days and I could never worm up my courage to get it removed. Besides, all my lovers since then have been decidedly interested in it."

Softly, Jethro laughed. "Well, I plan on being the last of your lovers, if you'll have me…" He felt Ducky tremble lightly in his arms, and Jethro tightened his grip a little more, trying to offer reassurance. Then a soft, strong hand was pressing against his chest, and his felt his heart skip a beat at that touch, even though Ducky was pressing back just enough to look up into his gaze. Tears still lingered in that soft blue gaze, but the sadness had hidden itself away for the moment. "Of course…until you get tired of me, of course," Ducky told him before looking away, and Jethro felt a streak of possessiveness burn through him. After just getting Ducky, he wouldn't be letting him go. "Not gonna happen Duck," and he pressed a tender kiss to Ducky's soft cheek, which earned him the cheeky reply of "Well…I guess you'll just have to stick around and prove it." He took it for the challenge it was, but knew it would be no problem to overcome. He would gladly remain in Ducky's oversized, comfortable bed, with Ducky in his arms until forced to leave.

And that idea sounded good. Jethro laughed, and snuggled down against Ducky, deeper into the down comforter, "Deal." He tightened his grip a little more around Duck's waist, thinking of those notebooks on his bedside table. "I won't move from this spot until I have to." He pressed his face into Ducky's neck, inhaling his sweet smell. He felt the steady pulse in Duck's neck against his lips, and promised himself he would give the doctor the notebooks as soon as he woke up. He had waited too long to let the older man know exactly how he felt, and another day with Ducky in the dark simply would not suffice. Jethro thought back over the idea of moving in with Duck, spending the rest of his life with the man in his arms, and finally he let sleep overcome him.

Fin.


End file.
